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The Madonna of the Goldfinch, 





THE MADONNA OF 
THE GOLDFINCH 


BY AMY STEEDMAN 



EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS IN 
COLOUR BY E. M. STEEDMAN 


NEW YORK : FREDERICK A. STOKES CO. 







TO 

NELL 


Gift 

P«i>Iichei 

WAR 15 1919 


ABOUT THIS BOOK 


When summer is ended and the trees have shed 
their leaves, and bitter winds sweep over the 
bare, dreary garden, one looks back wistfully to 
the sunny days gone by, when skies were blue 
and flowers made the earth gay with their 
beauty. 

So in this grey time of war, when the world 
seems changed and grown sad, I find myself 
looking back wistfully to the peaceful, happy 
days it was once my lot to spend in Italy. These 
stories are about the children and places I knew 
and loved in that beautiful land, and I have 
written them down in the hope that they may 
hold in them some faint fragrance of those dear 
days of happy memory, even as a handful of dried 
rose leaves or sweet lavender brings with it a 
breath of Summer, and so is made welcome when 
the flowers are dead. 


Amy Steedman. 


LIST OF STORIES 

The Madonna of the Goldfinch i 


The Whispering Shell 




11 

Godmother’s Gifts . 




21 

THE STORY OF MARGUERITE’S 

locket 



Tonino’s Crucifix 




46 

S. Martin’s Purse . 




54 

Heartsease 




72 

Sandro’s Search 




79 

The Coming of the King 




98 

Alessandro 




1 17 

The Golden Key 




131 

Signor Piccione 




*45 

The Magic Mirror . 




r 53 

The Steep Ascent 




170 







LIST OF PLATES 


The Madonna of the Goldfinch .... Frontispiece 

The Madonna’s Shrine.18 

The sweet face of the Madonna looked out of a pale gold 

background ......... 32 

The Madonna looked down from her marble pedestal . 72 

The procession of priests passed in.94 

Alessandro . . . ..120 

The procession wound its way along.136 

Grandmother was sitting near the doorway of the little 

house .......... 162 












THE 

MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

Marietta sat on the doorstep busily plaiting the 
long straws into smooth braids, and there was a 
serious look upon her face. The sunbeams were 
playing hide-and-seek in the golden brown of her 
curly hair, warming her little bare toes, and show¬ 
ing up clearly the many patches on her old blue 
petticoat; but she was too busy with her thoughts 
to smile back a welcome to the dancing sunlight 
as she usually did. The swift movement of her 
small brown fingers, as they plaited the straws 
in and out, was like the work of a machine ; for 
it was easily seen that Marietta was thinking of 
something far away and much more interesting 
than plaits of straw. 

In the distance, below in the valley, the thin 
veil of the morning mist hung like a cobweb of 
opal-tinted gossamer round the great domes and 
towers of Florence, showing here and there at a^ 

( 1 , 912 ) I 


2 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


bend the silver thread of the winding Arno. It 
was the sight of those domes and the tall tower of 
the Palazzo Vecchio which had set Marietta think¬ 
ing so deeply. 

Only the week before she had gone with her 
father on Sunday morning into the great city, 
and had walked under the shadow of that tall 
tower. Together they had climbed the marble 
staircase of the old palace, and entered suddenly 
into a world of such magic beauty that she had 
dreamed of it ever since. It almost bewildered 
her to try to remember those wonderful pictures 
that lined the walls. The glory of the gold had 
dazzled her eyes; the wonderful colours, pure and 
fresh as the petals of spring flowers, had made it 
seem to her like a glimpse of heaven, where the 
Madonna and,all the saints sit in glory. But in 
all the confusion of delight there was one picture 
which stood out clear and distinct, one picture that 
she had loved best of all. The others had made 
her feel a little shy, as if her bare feet and patched 
petticoat were not fit to be in such grand company ; 
but this one picture was like a friend. There the 
gentle Madonna looked just as Marietta had often 
seen her mother look down on little Giulietto, as 
he played about her knee; and the meaning of the 
picture was so easy to understand. 


MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 3 

S. John had caught a little goldfinch, and had 
brought it to give to the Gesu Bambino, handling 
it perhaps a little roughly, as boys are apt to do. 
But the Gesu Bambino’s hands were gentle and 
kind. With protecting love He curved one little 
hand over the frightened bird, as if to guard it 
with His loving care. It reminded her of what 
the old priest had so often said to the village 
children: “ Remember that all helpless animals, 
however small, belong to the Gesu Bambino, and He 
loves each one. If you hurt one of His creatures, 
you hurt the Master Himself.” 

“ Marietta, Marietta,” cried a voice from inside 
the house, “ is thy work not finished yet ? ” 

Marietta started, and her fingers flew quicker 
than ever. 

“ Only one more bundle to plait, Mammina,” 
she called back cheerfully. 

“ I fear thou hast been dreaming as usual,” said 
her mother, coming to the door and looking re¬ 
provingly at the bundle of straws still unplaited. 

“ It is almost time that thou shouldst set out to 
carry the braids into the city. Thou hast worked 
hard, and dost well deserve the new shoes which 
the money will buy.” 

Marietta nodded her head gleefully, never stop¬ 
ping her busy plaiting. How she had longed and^ 


4 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

waited for those shoes, and how good it was to 
think that this very afternoon she would take the 
last of the straw braids to the hat-shop in the city, 
and receive enough money to make up the sum 
which was needed to pay for the shoes of her 
dreams ! She had never had a new pair of shoes 
before, and it would be a red-letter day in her life. 
She wriggled her little bare brown toes in the 
warm dust, and laughed a gay little laugh to herself 
as she thought of those beautiful shining shoes, 
with good thick soles and stout laces, which would 
so soon be hers, to be worn on Sundays and 
holidays. The vision of those wonderful shoes 
quite put to flight the remembrance of the picture 
about which she had been dreaming. 

“ There ! ” she exclaimed at last with a sigh of 
pleasure, jumping up and shaking out her apron. 
“ The last straw is finished, and the braid is ready, 
the saints be praised ! ” 

Very soon she too was ready to start for the dis¬ 
tant city. She only needed to smooth her hair and 
tie her yellow handkerchief neatly under her chin. 
Then, from the old chest in the corner, her mother 
took a little cotton bag and counted out the money 
which Marietta had already earned towards the 
new shoes. This was carefully knotted into the 
corner of an old handkerchief and put in the bottom 


MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 5 

of the pocket which was tied securely round 
Marietta’s waist, under her scanty petticoat. 

“ I will pack the braids into the old basket,” 
said her mother; “ then when it is empty thou 
canst put the new shoes into it and carry them 
safely home. Be sure that thou art a careful little 
maid, and make a wise choice ; and let them be 
large enough, for it will be many a long day ere 
thou canst have another pair.” 

Marietta nodded her head solemnly. She needed 
no words to tell her how great a responsibility 
rested on her shoulders that day. She walked 
along rather soberly at first, she was so anxious 
to be careful and wise; but very soon the delicious 
warmth of the spring sunshine, the flowers peeping 
through the hedges, and above all the thought 
of the new shoes, made her break into little skips 
of delight. 

It was a long dusty road that led down to the 
city, and Marietta was not sorry to reach at last 
the great gates, and to slip through the shouting 
throng that crowded round the custom-house, and 
so into the quiet streets beyond. It was easy work 
then to find her way to the river-side, and across 
the old bridge with its quaint rows of shops, and 
then on to the busy narrow street where the straw- 
hat makers drove their brisk trade. Here she/ 


6 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


delivered her braids and duly received her money ; 
and this she carefully tied in another corner of the 
old handkerchief, for she was afraid if she carried 
it in her hand she might lose it before she reached 
the boot shop. 

With the old empty basket on her arm she 
set out once more, and had gone but a little 
way when a crowd of noisy boys turned into 
the narrow street, their shouts and laughter min¬ 
gling with the loud yelps of a little white dog that 
barked at their heels. 

Marietta drew hastily aside into the shelter of 
a dark doorway. She mistrusted noisy boys, and 
always tried to keep out of their way. Then as 
the crowd stopped for a moment, just opposite the 
doorway where she stood half hidden, she gave 
a little gasp of terror at the sight which met her 
eyes. One of the biggest boys held a tiny dun- 
coloured mouse dangling by a string, which was 
cruelly knotted round its little leg. Laughing and 
shouting with glee, he held it just out of reach 
of the dog that leapt upwards, almost turning 
a somersault in its wild anxiety to get at the 
poor little hunted creature. Then the other boys 
seized the dog and held it back, while the mouse 
was let down to run along the road, only to be 
jerked back again by the cruel string just before 


MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 7 

the dog had time to seize it. Once again the dog 
was held back, and again the terrified mouse was 
set down ; but this time there was some one quicker 
than the dog. Marietta darted out and caught 
the little creature in both her hands, and then 
turned on the crowd of shouting boys with eyes 
that blazed with anger. 

“ Wicked animals that ye are ! ” she panted. “ I 
would I were a man, for then I would whip every 
one of you. I would tie a string to your legs and 
set a roaring, raging lion loose to chase you.” 

The roars of the raging lion could scarcely have 
been louder and fiercer than the shouts of rage and 
anger that burst from the lips of the boys as they 
surrounded her. But the more they shouted and 
threatened, the firmer Marietta stood, holding the 
little creature tight in her hands, and feeling its heart 
beating in terror, just as wildly as her own heart 
was doing, in spite of the brave face she kept. 

But now the cruel boys were pulling at the 
string which was still tied to the mouse’s leg, 
and Marietta was in despair, until she suddenly 
thought of a plan. 

“ Will you give me the mouse if I pay you two 
pennies for it ? ” she gasped. 

That was worth considering, and the string 
was immediately slackened. 


8 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


“ Show us the two pennies first,” cried the boys. 

“ Then hold off the dog, and let no one come 
near me,” said Marietta ; and carefully freeing one 
hand, she felt in the depth of her under pocket 
and brought out the old handkerchief with the 
knots tied so securely in the corners. 

There was a forward movement of the boys ; 
in a flash a dozen hands snatched at the hand¬ 
kerchief, and before Marietta realized what had 
happened, she was left alone in the silent street, 
her money all gone, and only the tiny throbbing 
creature left in her hand. 

Yes, it was quite true : all the money she had 
saved and worked for, the money which was to buy 
her those wonderful shoes, was quite, quite gone ! 
The crowd of boys had vanished as if by magic. 
A great sob rose in Marietta’s throat, and she leant 
against the wall, burying her face in her arm, and 
crying as if her heart would break. Then some¬ 
thing moved, soft and warm, in the shelter of her 
protecting hand, and she tried to choke back her 
sobs and brush aside her tears, that she might see 
what she could do for the cause of all her woe. 
The cruel cord was knotted tightly round the little 
leg ; and it was some time before she could unloose 
it, for she was afraid of hurting the helpless 
creature. But at last it was done, and she let the 


MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 9 

mouse fall, to run into a hole at the side of the 
pavement. 

Marietta felt happier as she watched the dun- 
coloured streak disappear into the hole. She was 
glad the mouse was safe, but even as she looked 
down, the sight of her little dusty feet reminded 
her of her loss, and the tears filled her eyes again. 
Slowly and listlessly she walked down the street. 
She must go home by some different road, for she 
could not bear to pass the boot-shop now, and see 
those rows of shoes hanging so temptingly outside 
the door. Very drearily she threaded her way 
through narrow by-streets, until she came to a 
part of the city she scarcely knew. The shops 
were larger and much grander here, and she 
stopped before one whose windows were full of 
pictures, and then drew a long deep breath of 
pleasure. There in the very middle was a picture, 
a copy of her favourite “ Madonna of the Gold¬ 
finch.” Marietta pressed close to the window to 
see it better. Yes, there were the gentle Mother, 
the gay, thoughtless little S. John ; and there was 
the Gesu Bambino, holding His hand so lovingly 
over the tiny bird. 

“ Do not hurt it,” He seemed to be saying. “ I 
love every one of My tiny creatures, and those who / 
hurt them hurt Me.” 


io MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


A deep rush of joy filled Marietta’s heart. 
Why, of course, the mouse she had saved belonged 
to Him, and in helping it she had really been 
doing a service for Him. What did the shoes 
matter after all ? She looked with adoring eyes 
at the little figure standing there, one tiny bare 
foot placed so lovingly upon his mother’s. 

Then a gay smile spread over Marietta’s face, 
and her eyes shone. 

“ Why, the Gesu Bambino has no shoes either,” 
she whispered to herself contentedly. J 


THE WHISPERING SHELL. 

The sun was sinking in the west, and it filled the 
sky and sea with a golden glory. It caught the 
sails of the fishing boats as they sailed slowly out 
to the lagunes, and turned them into shining flecks 
of crimson, white, and yellow, until they looked 
like a flight of gay butterflies hovering over 
the clear golden water. The boats moved but 
slowly, for the breeze was light, and it was 
some time before they all got clear away from 
the wide canal of S. Pietro, where they had been 
anchored. 

One by one the sails caught the breeze outside 
the sheltering canal and sailed gaily away, until only 
one boat was left behind to hoist its sails and cast 
adrift. The men on board were cheerily pulling 
at the ropes, and the great orange-coloured sails 
began to swell out as the boat slowly left its 
moorings, when a sharp cry rang out from the 
shore. 

“ Father, father!” screamed a little shrill voiceV 


i2 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


“ Oh, father, thou hast gone away without 
me ! ” 

The big fisherman at the ropes stood up and 
waved his hand cheerfully. 

“ Go home, and be a good boy,” he shouted 
back. “ Then—who knows—perhaps I may take 
thee to-morrow.” 

The only answer was a scream of disappoint¬ 
ment from Beppi as he ran up and down the pave¬ 
ment in front of the old church, where the boats 
anchored, and waved his arms in a furious rage 
and cried most bitterly. 

“ Wilt thou not put back and take me to¬ 
night ? ” he sobbed. 

“ No, no,” cried his father over the widening 
stretch of water. “ It is too late to-night. Go 
home to thy mother.” 

The little white dog on board barked in sym¬ 
pathy with Beppi’s cries, and the neighbours 
on shore smiled when they heard the noisy 
chorus. 

“ ’Tis the same story every time the boat 
sets out,” they said. “ Beppi has a hopeful heart. 
’Tis always to-morrow that he hopes to be taken 
to the fishing.” 

But Beppi took no heed of them. He was too 
full of angry disappointment, and he ran swiftly / 


THE WHISPERING SHELL. 


*3 

home, sobbing all the way, as soon as the yellow 
sail had turned the corner. 

“ There, there, thou art a foolish child,” said 
Beppi’s mother, as he flung himself down on the 
floor and hid his face in her petticoat. “Thy 
father cannot take thee, and it is useless to expect 
it. Thou art too small, and would only come 
to some harm.” 

“ I could help him,” came the smothered answer 
choked with sobs. 

“ What help could such tiny hands give ? ” 
asked his mother, lifting one of his little brown 
clenched fists in hers. 

Beppi lifted his flushed, tear-stained face and 
looked at her solemnly. 

“ I can knot a rope more firmly than thou canst, 
Mammina,” he said proudly, “ and I can hold 
an oar.” 

“ And fall into the canal two or three times a 
week,” said his mother, shaking her head. “ I 
wonder which of the sea-fairies came to thy chris¬ 
tening, and what charm they gave thee to draw 
thee always to the sea, so that thou canst never be 
content on land.” 

“ It was no sea-fairy at all,” said Beppi trium¬ 
phantly. “ But I will tell thee what it is, for I know. 
It was the Madonna herself, and she put one of/ 


i 4 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

the tiny whispering shells close to my heart, and 
it always whispers and whispers of the sea, and 
calls me all day long.” 

“ I would the Madonna had put a seed of con¬ 
tentment there instead,” said his mother—“ some¬ 
thing that would whisper of obedience and call 
thee to do what thy mother bids thee, instead 
of playing among the boats, falling into the water, 
and screaming because thy father will not take 
thee to the fishing.” 

Beppi looked at the dishes he had been told to 
wash, and the cradle he had been set to rock, and 
he sighed deeply. 

“ It seems a pity it was the whispering shell she 
chose,” he said. “ The other would have been 
pleasanter for thee.” 

“ And pleasanter for thee too, foolish little one,” 
answered his mother. “ Some day thou wilt learn 
that obedience is best of all. It is the lesson of 
the Gesu Bambino, and until thou hast learnt that 
thou wilt never be content, even if thou shouldst 
go sailing in thy father’s boat.” 

But Beppi was not listening to her words at all. 
His thoughts were busy with a splendid plan 
which had just come into his head. If his father 
would not take him fishing in the big boat, he 
would go by himself the very next day in the/ 


THE WHISPERING SHELL. 


15 

little boat which lay at the side, and which he 
could easily untie. He felt sure he could guide 
it with an oar, and he would go far away out over 
the lagunes, away to the tiny islands whose long 
reflections seemed always beckoning to him ; and 
when he returned his father would see how well 
he could manage a boat, and how useful he would 
be at the fishing, and there would be no more talk 
of leaving him behind. 

So the very next evening, when the big boat 
was anchored close to the marble pavement, and 
his father was eating his supper before making 
ready to sail, Beppi came stealing down to the 
waterside, and ran swiftly across the plank into 
the big boat, as he had often done before. No one 
noticed him particularly as he climbed about the 
ropes, and no one saw him drop stealthily over 
the side into the little boat that lay close by, made 
fast by a knotted rope. 

It was an easy matter to untie the rope, for 
Beppi had clever fingers for any work that he 
cared to do ; then he shoved off, and in a moment 
the boat was caught in the current and went 
gaily floating away. There was no need to use the 
oar, the current was so strong, and it soon carried 
him far out from the land, away to the distant sea 
which he had longed to reach. 


16 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


“ We shall have rough weather to-night,” said 
Beppi’s father a little later, as he and his partner 
climbed into the boat and looked anxiously at the 
sky, where the great thunder-clouds were rising 
up to meet the wind. “ Haul in the boat and let 
us be off.” 

“ Some one has done that for us already,” said 
the other man, peering over the side. “ The boat 
is gone.” 

Just then an anxious voice sounded from the 
shore. 

“ Is Beppi aboard ? Perhaps he is hiding there. 
I cannot find the child anywhere,” shouted his 
mother. 

“ No, he’s not here, and neither is the little boat,” 
said his father grimly. “ If he has been meddling 
with it, he shall know what it means to be soundly 
thrashed when I find him.” 

The news soon spread through the fishing 
quarter that Beppi and the little boat were both 
missing. 

“ Did any of you children see him go ? ” asked 
his mother anxiously of the crowd of little brown¬ 
faced, bare-footed children that were playing there. 

“ Oh yes, we saw him,” they cried. “ He was 
sailing away out there ; ” and they pointed vaguely 
to the horizon, now heavy with purple clouds. ^ 

( 1 . 912 ) 


THE WHISPERING SHELL. 


7 


The poor mother wrung her hands. 

“ Now may the saints protect him ! ” she cried. 

“ He will certainly be drowned, for the storm will 
soon break, and he is too small to manage the 
boat.” 

She looked anxiously at the sky. It was already 
black with clouds, and the wind was beginning to 
howl, and little fretful waves began to beat angrily 
against the sides of the big boat. 

“ We must sail with the current, and perchance 
we may overtake him yet before he comes to any 
hajm,” said his father, speaking as cheerfully as he 
could ; and soon the great sails were set and the 
boa? went swinging out before the wind. 

But all night long the two men searched in vain. 
The rain lashed their faces and the wind screamed 
so wildlv that they could scarcely see a yard ahead 
or hear each other speak, and they knew it was 
hopeless .o look for the boat till the dawn should 
break. Even then, when light filtered through 
in the east and the wind began to fall, the tired 
fishermen had little hope left to cheer them on. 

It was light enough now to see far ahead, and 
the blinding rain had stopped, so their eyes could 
sweep the water in all directions in search of the 
tiny boat. But the father’s heart was almost too 
heavy to look/ There was but a poor chance/ 

( 1 , 912 ) 2 


18 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


that the tiny craft could have lived through such 
a night, and even if it was still afloat, where might 
it not have drifted by this time, with only those 
small hands to guide it ? 

“ What is that ? ” cried the other fisherman 
excitedly, pointing to a black speck in the distance. 

“ It is only the Madonna’s shrine,” said the 
father. 

“ But there is a boat there, tied to the pale,” 
said the fisherman, gazing outward with keen, 
narrowed eyes. 

“ Some one has gone to trim her lamp,” said 
the father. 

But nevertheless with beating hearts they steered 
their boat towards the distant shrine. 

“ The saints be praised ! ” they exclaimed to¬ 
gether as they came nearer. “ It is surely our boat. 
Perhaps the child is safe after all.” 

The boat was rocking idly to and fro, tied to one 
of the old gray water pales, and it seemed to be 
empty ; but as they shouted a small bundle in the 
boat shook itself, and stood upright and waved its 
arms. 

It was not long before Beppi was safe aboard, 
wrapped in his father’s coat, and the yellow sails 
gleamed in the sunlight as the boat sped home¬ 
wards. His mother was waiting for him and 


The Madonna's Shrine. 








































































































































* 

















































THE WHISPERING SHELL. 


l 9 

carried him up in her arms, and, safe at home, 
stripped his little shivering body of its soaking 
wet clothes, and rolled him in a blanket. Then 
as she chafed his cold feet she listened to his 
tearful story. 

“The boat went on and on, and I was so happy, 
until the wind began to blow and the rain came 
on. Then it grew so dark and the waves were so 
high that I was frightened and cried out for help. 
The wind took the white tops off the waves and 
blew them in my face, and the boat turned 
round and round, sometimes going one way and 
sometimes another. Then suddenly I saw the 
Madonna’s lamp, and the boat bumped against one 
of her pales. I tied the rope round quickly, for I 
knew I would be safe if I could keep near to the 
Madonna whose light warns the fishing boats off 
the quicksands. It was very cold and very wet, 
but I think I went to sleep, for by-and-by I 
dreamed that the Madonna came and took me in 
her arms and made me quite happy, and I heard 
her tell me that the whispering shell had not been 
her gift at all, and I was to listen to it no more, but 
to learn the lesson of obedience, which was worth 
all the whispering shells in the world.” 

“ I am glad she told thee that,” said his mother, 
“ and thou wilt never forget her words.” 


20 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


His father smiled grimly as he listened. “ And 
if a good sound whipping will help thee to remem¬ 
ber,” he said, “ thou shalt have it, I promise thee. 
Only wait till all this water is squeezed out of us 
both, and I will begin at once to teach thee how 
to learn the Madonna’s lesson.” 


GODMOTHER’S GIFTS. 


The beautiful old room was a fair setting for the 
dainty old lady who sat there, surrounded by her 
treasures. It was a large, lofty room, and the 
flickering blue flames which leapt up the great 
chimney from the log fire on the hearth could not 
light up its dim and distant corners. There the 
shadows gathered and hung like a gray veil, torn 
sometimes asunder as a more powerful gleam shot 
out from the blue flames and showed for a moment 
glimpses of gold backgrounds and saintly faces, 
carved frames, and beautiful old china, and a dim 
vision of floating angels painted on the ceiling 
above. 

The little old lady herself was the fairest picture 
of all, and the firelight showed clearly her dainty 
lace cap fastened with flat silver pins, her silken 
dress, and the delicate foam of lace at her neck 
and wrists. She seemed to suit the great room 
exactly, although she was so small and so young in 
the midst of her old-world treasures. She really 
was one of those whom the gods love—who there- 


22 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


fore never grow old. Her eyes were as keen and 
as bright as a child’s, and when she laughed every 
one who heard her was obliged to laugh too. 
They might not know why they were laughing, 
but the very sound made their hearts gay and 
showed them a world full of happiness. 

It was a festa to-day in the old palazzo, and there 
was to be a birthday feast. Three little visitors 
were expected, and their fairy godmother was sit¬ 
ting there in the firelight waiting for them. First 
they would eat their cake and fruit in the other 
salon, play their games and work off their bois¬ 
terous spirits. Then would come the great excite¬ 
ment of the day. They would make their visit 
to the little old lady and find out what surprise 
she had planned for them. 

The sounds of laughter and pattering feet could 
be heard through the folding doors, and the fairy 
godmother smiled as she listened. She loved 
children, and she liked to hear them noisy at a 
distance. Near at hand she preferred them to 
behave quietly and courteously. This room was 
her kingdom, and she ruled with a firm though 
kindly hand. All children knew that only their 
most courtly manners were expected here. 

Now came a sound of talking and shuffling out¬ 
side the door, and then followed a gentle knock. 


GODMOTHER’S GIFTS. 


n 

“Come in!” cried the Queen, and the door 
opened and the guests came in. 

Margaret, the eldest, led the way. She came 
a few steps forward and, standing well in front, 
dropped a curtsy, so low that her white muslin 
frock almost touched the floor. Then followed 
Christopher and John, who each in turn kissed the 
frail white hand held out to them. 

Three little chairs, all in a row, were set out 
for the guests, and they sat down very quietly and 
answered, one at a time, politely and clearly, the 
questions put to them. 

“ How is your mother, Margaret ? ” 

“ She is very well, thank you, godmother.” 

“ How old are you to-day ? ” 

“ I am nine years old, godmother.” 

“ How old are you, Christopher ? ” 

“ Seven and a half, and I’m nearly as tall as 
Margaret.” 

“ I hope you had a good tea, John ? ” 

“ Luv’ly ! ” said John, quite loud out, and not in 
a polite whisper at all. “ I had three cakes an’ four 
tarts an’ ”—here he caught Margaret’s stern eye 
and stopped, but his godmother patted his hand 
and smiled on him. They all knew that John was 
the favourite. 

But although the children tried to sit still and 


24 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

answer politely, they could not help their eyes 
wandering towards a table which stood just behind. 
It was not an ordinary table, for it had a white 
cover over it, and there was something underneath 
the cover which made it look deliciously secret 
and exciting. 

Then the little old lady blew a silver whistle, and 
immediately a tall serving-man came in, who lit 
the candles and moved the white-covered table in 
front of the fire. 

The children drew their chairs nearer and held 
their breath with excitement. 

“ Now,” said the fairy godmother, “ as this is 
Margaret’s birthday, she shall take the cloth off 
and choose first. Perhaps there is also something 
there for the unlucky people who have no birth¬ 
days to-day.” 

Christopher gave a sigh of satisfaction, and 
John’s eyes shone. 

“ And so,” went on the old lady, “ I have set 
out a choice of presents for all of you. After 
Margaret has chosen, Christopher and John shall 
spin the teetotum to decide who is to have the 
next choice. Each present has a story, and after 
you have chosen you shall hear what the stories 
are.” 

There was a breathless pause. Margaret, with 


GODMOTHER’S GIFTS. 


25 

cheeks flushed pink, and blue eyes shining like 
stars, lifted the white cloth, and all three children 
stood and gazed at the treasures beneath. 

The fairy godmother’s presents were always 
something rather like herself—very rare, very beau¬ 
tiful, and full of charm. It would be difficult to 
know what to choose. There was a silver box for 
sweetmeats, with lovely fat cupids chasing each 
other round the lid. There was a little gold heart- 
shaped locket, set with rows of tiny pearls like 
mermaids’ tears, and a slender golden chain to 
match. There was a knitted silken purse clasped 
at the top with a heavy silver coin, on which was 
engraved a picture of S. Martin and the beggar- 
man. And last of all there was a small ebony cross 
with a worn silver figure upon it. 

“ Oh ! be quick, Margaret ! ” said Christopher, 
and he gave an impatient tug to her blue sash. 
John so far forgot his manners as to stretch out 
one slim silk-stockinged leg and give his sister a 
gentle kick. 

But Margaret took no notice of either of them. 
She stood with hands clasped tightly together and 
gazed at the treasures. 

“ Well, my dear ? ” said the old lady at last. 

“ Please, may I have the locket ?” said Margaret, 
almost in a whisper. 


26 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


“ I thought so,” said the old lady, nodding and 
smiling as she stretched out a hand and fastened 
the slender chain round Margaret’s soft neck, and 
patted her golden head. 

“ Now for the rest,” she said. 

There was a little bustle while the boys searched 
for the teetotum, and then a space on the table 
was cleared for the spinning. Christopher, being 
the elder, had the first turn, and he spun so vigor¬ 
ously that the teetotum bounded off the table 
and disappeared. This wasted a good deal of 
precious time, but at last it was found and 
Christopher tried again. 

“ Four ! ” he shouted at the very top of his 
voice, as the teetotum staggered and lay on its side. 
Margaret said “ Hush !” and looked reprovingly at 
him. He knew quite well that he ought not to 
shout in that room ; but Margaret looked so prim 
and proper, and so pleased with herself and the 
gold locket, that instead of looking sorry he made 
a face at her and felt happier. 

John’s hand was trembling with eagerness, and 
so hot that the teetotum stuck to his fingers 
and wouldn’t spin at all to begin with. Then it 
whirled round and round rather feebly, and sank 
on its side showing the figure two. 

“ Ah ! ” said Christopher with a long-drawn 


GODMOTHER’S GIFTS. 


27 

breath of satisfaction, “ it’s my turn to choose 
next.” 

The bonbon box was rather nice but not very 
useful. It wouldn’t hold many sweets. It might 
do to keep worms in for fishing, but there were 
no air-holes, and the worms would die. 

“ I’ll have the purse, please,” he said, lifting S. 
Martin with care. 

John had slipped his hand on to the old lady’s 
knee and was holding her fingers tight. These 
two understood each other best of all, perhaps 
because their ages so nearly met—for he was at the 
beginning and she was near the end of the golden 
circle of years. He gave a great sigh as Christopher 
took up the purse. 

“ Was that what you wanted ? ” she whispered. 

“ No,” whispered John back, “ but I was so 
afraid he would choose my special want.” 

“ Is it the silver box ? ” she asked, smiling. 

“ Oh no,” said John out loud ; “ I want the little 
black cross.” 

“ Now, John, that’s very foolish,” said Margaret 
in her most grown-up voice. “ What would you 
do with it ? Of course you must choose the bon¬ 
bon box. You are too little to understand such 
things.” 

But the fairy godmother lifted the cross very y 


28 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


reverently and put it into John’s hand. “John 
shall choose what he likes,” she said, “ and indeed 
he has chosen best of all. See how smooth the 
silver is. Loving fingers touching it reverently 
have worn away all the sharpness long ago. Many 
and many a prayer have God’s angels carried up 
to Him while that silver was wearing so smooth. 
Many a story hangs around it, like perfume round 
a beautiful flower. The little black cross carries 
with it a wondrous blessing.” 

“ But can we have my locket story first, please,” 
said Margaret quickly, “ because it is my birthday ? ” 

The little old lady nodded, and sat back in her 
chair. She folded her hands, which looked like 
two pale white flowers against the dark folds of 
her silken gown, and then she began. 


THE STORY OF MARGUERITE’S LOCKET. 

Marguerite was only a very little girl, scarcely 
five years old, on the dark, sad day when they told 
her that God had taken her mother and the new 
little baby brother to the beautiful fields of Paradise. 
For a long time Marguerite felt sure her mother 
would come back again. She was so certain that 
mother could not be happy, even in the most beauti¬ 
ful place, while her little daughter was left behind. 


GODMOTHER’S GIFTS. 


2 9 

But days, weeks, and months went past and no 
mother returned, and life grew rather dull and 
lonely for one little girl in the great gloomy old 

There were no flowers now in the rooms, and 
many of the shutters were kept closed, and the 
shadowy, silent salon had a grim, unfriendly look. 
Visitors came sometimes, but not very often, and 
most of them asked such foolish questions. 

“ Do you remember your mother, you poor little 
one?” they said; and then Marguerite drew herself 
up like the princess in the picture gallery and said, 
“ I remember very well, thank you.” 

But, truth to tell, when Marguerite was seven 
years old her memory began to grow a little dim. 
Those happy days, full of sunshine and flowers, 
seemed such a long way off that she almost forgot 
what they had been like. She had no portrait of 
her mother, but in the picture gallery there hung 
an old faded altar-piece, where the sweet face of a 
Madonna looked out of a pale gold background, so 
like the gentle face which used to bend over her 
that she had long ago made up her mind that it 
was the portrait of her mother, with the golden 
light of heaven shining behind her. 

As the memory of her sunny, tender-faced mother 
grew dim, the picture of the heavenly Mother grew 


3 o MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

more and more real to Marguerite. The dear little 
curly-haired baby of the picture must be her little 
baby brother, she supposed, and whenever she was 
lonely or in trouble she crept away into the picture 
gallery, where the comforting sweet face was 
always ready to welcome her and make her forget 
that she was lonely. 

Of course there was Brigida too, the old nurse, 
who was never tired of telling her tales about the 
fair young mistress she had loved so well. 

“ I held her in these arms when she was but 
a child like thee,” Brigida often said. “ She was 
the fairest flower on earth, so the good God took 
her to bloom in His garden above.” 

“ I wish He hadn’t,” said Marguerite. “ I 
wonder if she likes His garden best ? She always 
loved flowers, didn’t she, and that is why she 
called me Marguerite ? ” 

“ Si, si,” said Brigida softly; “ and canst thou 
remember what she told thee before she went 
away ? ” 

Then Marguerite shut her eyes and knitted 
her brows, and tried to remember carefully every 
word. 

“ She said I must always remember to grow just 
like my name,” she said slowly ; “ that I must have 
a golden heart like the daisies, with white, pure 


GODMOTHER’S GIFTS. 


3 1 

thoughts like their petals, so that when I went 
to meet her she would know me at once, and 
say, ‘Why, here is my little golden-hearted 
Marguerite ! * ” 

Old Brigida nodded her head and tried to smile, 
although her eyes were dim with tears. 

“ May the holy angels guard thee as their white 
flower ! ” she said. 

There was no one else who talked to Marguerite 
about her mother. Her grandfather never did. 
But then he scarcely spoke to her at all. She always 
felt that he exactly matched the old palazzo—he 
was so stately, and so terrifying, and so old; and 
yet he was home. If she belonged to no one else, 
she at least belonged to the old gloomy rooms and 
the white-haired, stately grandfather. Every day 
she went into his private room and made her 
curtsy to him and said, “ I am very well, thank 
you, grandfather,” when he looked up from under 
his bushy eyebrows and said, “ Hey ! Well ? 
How are you to-day ? ” 

But Marguerite was by no means always lonely 
and quiet. She could be as happy as the day is 
long, and could make a good deal of noise too, 
especially when her lessons were done and Mario, 
the youngest of Brigida’s grandsons, was allowed 
to stay and play for a little with the Signorina, on 


32 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

the days he came to see his Nonna in the great 
palazzo. He was a well-behaved, gentle little boy, 
and it was good for the child to have a companion 
of her own age to play with. 

So the children had the happiest times together, 
and in all the games Marguerite was the princess 
and Mario her humble subject. All sorts of 
splendid adventures they went through, and had 
the most hairbreadth escapes in the Make-Believe 
Land where they played together. 

Sometimes, too, they even had a game of hide- 
and-seek all over the palace, but that was only 
when they were quite certain that Marguerite’s 
grandfather had gone out. Even then they were 
careful never to go near his room, for it was clearly 
understood that that was dangerous ground. 

Now one day it happened that the dull old 
palazzo awoke to a feeling of excitement, and even 
Marguerite felt it in the air. There was to be a 
dinner party at night—not just an ordinary dinner 
party, but a very special one to welcome the Prince. 
When the servants mentioned the Prince they 
dropped their voices almost to a whisper. Mar¬ 
guerite was sure he must be a very great man indeed. 
Even grandfather left his room and gave orders 
in a deep, stern voice which seemed to frighten 
the maids out of their wits. Marguerite heard 


The sweet face of the Madonna looked out of a pale 
gold background. 

























GODMOTHER’S GIFTS. 


33 

them telling each other what a wonderful reception 
it was to be, and how the Signor had brought out 
the famous Venetian goblet to do honour to his 
guest. They spoke of the goblet even more rever¬ 
ently than they did of the Prince. It was priceless, 
they said, and there was not another like it in all 
the world, it was so beautiful and so precious. 

Mario had come with a message that morning, 
but Brigida was much too busy to attend to him, 
and told the children they might play together a 
little, if they were quiet and did not trouble her. 

It was a splendid opportunity for hide-and-seek, 
thought Marguerite, for every one was too busy to 
notice them, and Mario said he had met the Signor 
going out. 

“ I’ll hide first,” she said, and danced through 
the rooms trying to think of some new and secret 
place where Mario would never find her. 

Then a happy thought struck her. Grandfather 
was out, and she would hide in his study. A deli¬ 
cious thrill of fear ran down her back as she pushed 
open the heavy door and peeped in. How grim it 
all looked, even though grandfather was not there! 
She would hide behind the curtain, and even if 
Mario dared to look in he would never find her. 

There was not much light in the gloomy old 
room, but just as Marguerite tiptoed past the 

(1,912) 3 


34 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

table a little blue flame shot up from the smoulder¬ 
ing logs on the hearth, and the light was reflected 
and caught by something that gleamed on the 
table. She stopped to look, and held her breath 
with delight. Why, here was the goblet, the 
wonderful goblet about which the servants had 
been talking ! No wonder they spoke of it in 
awed whispers. She had never seen anything half 
so lovely before. It was like a bubble of gold and 
pansy colour and blue, with living light woven in— 
just as if some one had caught the end of a rainbow 
and rounded it into a fairy goblet. 

Many a time when she and Mario blew bubbles 
in the nursery, she had touched the beautiful things 
with the tip of her finger, and found that they 
vanished at her touch. She wondered if this rain¬ 
bow goblet would be as frail as the bubbles she 
blew. How thrilling it would be just to touch it 
with the tip of one finger and see ! It was impos¬ 
sible to reach it from where she stood, but if she 
dragged a stool close to the table she could climb 
up and try. 

The goblet stood in the very middle of the table, 
and Marguerite was obliged to lean over as far as 
possible, and even then it was just out of her reach. 
She tried to stretch a little farther: her foot slipped, 
the stool overbalanced, and she and the goblet 


GODMOTHER’S GIFTS. 


35 

rolled over together on to the floor. She was 
quite whole and unbroken, but the goblet was 
smashed to pieces. 

Marguerite lifted herself on to her knees and 
gazed in horror at the shining pieces. What 
would her grandfather say ? There was not another 
goblet like it in all the world, and now it was 
broken—and the Prince was coming to-night ! 
She twisted her hands together, and her eyes grew 
round and terrified. What was to be done ? 

There was a sound of footsteps passing outside 
just then, and there seemed only one thing to do, 
and that was to run away and hide herself. She 
slipped out of the door and ran down the long 
passage, and never paused till she reached the 
nursery, and stood trembling in the shadow of the 
great cupboard. 

It seemed to Marguerite that she had stood there 
for hours, listening with all her ears to catch any 
sound from without, before the silence was broken. 
Certainly now there was a stir, and the sound of 
feet hurrying to and fro, but no one came near her. 
Had her grandfather come home and found the 
broken goblet ? Was Mario still looking for her ? 

“ Signorina ! Signorina ! ” at last came Brigida’s 
voice from outside, and the old nurse hurried in 
looking frightened and distressed. 


36 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

“ What is it ? ” said Marguerite, standing still 
in the shadow. 

“A terrible thing has happened !” panted Brigida. 
“ The goblet—the wonderful goblet—has been 
broken ! The Signor has ordered every one to come 
to his study, and he sends me to fetch thee too. 
What hast thou been doing here ? ” 

“ Playing hide-and-seek with Mario,” said 
Marguerite. Her face was white and her hands 
shook, but Brigida was too much troubled herself 
to notice anything. 

“ What evil chance sent him here to-day ? ” she 
said. “ He will have it that he has never entered 
the Signor’s room, but there is only his word 
for it.” 

“ Do they think that Mario broke the goblet ? ” 
burst out Marguerite quickly. 

Brigida nodded and gave a great sob. “ By all 
that was unfortunate he was running through the 
great hall, and ran straight into the arms of the 
Signor as he was going to his room.” 

Marguerite gasped. This was getting worse 
and worse. She tried to hang back, but Brigida 
caught her hand and dragged her on the faster. 
All the household was gathered already in the 
Signor’s room, she said, and awaited them. 

For the second time that day Marguerite entered 


GODMOTHER’S GIFTS. 


37 

the gloomy study, and her heart almost stopped 
beating as she looked around. 

There stood her grandfather, towering over all 
the rest, the frown upon his face as black as any 
thunder-cloud, his tall thin figure drawn to its full 
height, his eyes gleaming with anger. Around 
him the servants stood in terrified groups, and in 
front of all a poor little woebegone figure with a 
white, frightened face, gazing at the broken pieces 
of rainbow-coloured glass that lay at his feet on 
the floor. 

“ Has any one been in this room since I left it 
this morning ? ” thundered forth her grandfather’s 
voice. 

“ No, Signor ! No, Signor ! ” came the mur¬ 
mured denial from all sides. 

“ But some one must have been here. I give 
him one more chance to confess.” 

Those keen eyes glanced round at the servants 
as if they would drag out the very secrets of their 
hearts, but no one answered. Marguerite tried to 
speak, but no sound would come. Her very knees 
shook with terror. Her grandfather’s voice terri¬ 
fied her; she had never heard it sound like that 
before. 

“ Marguerite, do you know anything about 
this ? ” pointing to the broken pieces of glass. </ 


38 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

“ No, grandfather.” Somehow the words seemed 
to come from a long, long way off, and Marguerite 
did not know her own voice. 

“ What is the name of that child ? ” said her 
grandfather then, pointing a long white finger at 
little Mario. 

“ It is Mario, the son of my daughter, Signor,” 
said Brigida in trembling tones. “ He is a very 
good boy, and he-” 

“ What does he do here in this house ? ” went 
on the stern voice. 

“ He came with a message,” said Brigida. “ He 
is a very good-” 

“ Silence ! ” said the old man angrily. “ The 
child shall answer for himself. Did you enter 
this room this morning, boy ? ” 

“ No, Signor,” and Mario lifted his head and 
looked up with round, frightened eyes. 

“ Did you put that stool by the table on purpose 
to reach the goblet ? ” went on the stern voice. 

“ No, Signor,” Mario answered firmly, but he 
looked like a frightened little black rabbit caught 
in a trap. 

“ What were you doing in the great hall where 
I found you ? ” 

Mario glanced round for a moment and caught 
Marguerite’s eye. He looked imploringly at her. 



GODMOTHER’S GIFTS. 


39 

If only the Signorina would speak for him, and 
explain that they were playing a game, and that he 
had been seeking for her ! But Marguerite never 
moved and never spoke, and Mario hung his head. 

“ Enough ! ” thundered the old man. “ It only 
makes matters worse to add a lie to it. Take the 
child out of my sight,” he said bitterly to Brigida. 
“ I will see him again to-morrow and decide on 
the punishment.” 

There was a quick movement among the servants ; 
they were all anxious to escape as soon as possible. 
Brigida took Mario’s hand and led him out, and 
Marguerite went out with the rest, and ran swiftly 
upstairs into the nursery again. 

It was all like a bad dream, and she never forgot 
that long, wretched day. Brigida had taken Mario 
home, and none of the other servants came near 
the nursery. She was all alone with that terrible 
black thought which waited to seize her which¬ 
ever way she turned: she had told a lie, and 
Mario was to be punished for it! 

It was bad enough while the daylight lasted, 
but when the shadows began to creep in and it 
was time for bed, the black thought blotted out 
everything else in the world and held her tight. 

Poor old Brigida had returned to look after her 
charge, her eyes swollen with weeping. 


4 o MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

“ It is terrible—terrible ! ” she kept repeating. 
“ The goblet was worth a fortune ; and I have never 
known Mario tell a lie before. ” 

“ W-w-what will they do to him ? ” asked 
Marguerite. 

“ Heaven only knows,” sighed Brigida. 

Marguerite turned her face to the wall, and pulled 
the bed-clothes as high over her head as possible. 

“ Thou hast not said thy prayers to-night,” said 
Brigida. 

Marguerite never moved, and after waiting a 
few minutes Brigida carried the lamp away and 
left her alone in the darkness. 

Then Marguerite opened her eyes and sat up. 
She could not lie still with the black thought 
so close to her. What would they do to Mario ? 
Perhaps they would put him in prison. Perhaps 
the gens d’armes were already on their way to take 
him. Of course she had not said her prayers. 
How could she ? No white angels would be there 
to guard her bed that night. She was all alone in 
the blackness. She was afraid, and she wanted 
Brigida. No, it was her mother she wanted; and 
she slipped out of bed, and felt her way noiselessly 
across the room and through the passages to the 
picture gallery. 

The moon was shining clearly, and one pale 


GODMOTHER’S GIFTS. 


4 1 

silver shaft lit up the sweet face of the Madonna 
she loved. 

“ Mother ! ” said Marguerite with a sob, standing 
close under the picture. 

But for the first time the gentle face seemed to 
have nothing to do with her. The eyes looked 
far away as if they did not know her. 

Then it was that the most terrible thought of 
all came into Marguerite’s mind. Her mother 
would never know her again ; for she was no longer 
the little daughter that was to grow like a daisy, 
with a golden heart and pure white thoughts. 
Her heart was no longer gold. She had told a lie 
to save herself. Her black thoughts had frightened 
away even the angels from her bedside. 

This was indeed more than she could bear. 
She stood shivering for a moment, looking up 
at the picture, and then turned and pattered with 
bare feet across the floor and down the staircase and 
into the hall. Outside the dining-room doors she 
stood still for a moment, and pressed her hands 
tightly together. Would she ever be brave enough 
to open the door and go in ? 

On the other side of those folding doors a blaze 
of many candles lit up the dinner table, and the 
men who sat round it were all talking gaily to¬ 
gether. Marguerite’s grandfather, looking less grimy 


42 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

than usual, was lifting a goblet to pour the wine 
into the Prince’s glass. 

“Your Highness,” he said, “I had hoped to 
pour your wine from a more fitting goblet—the 
great treasure of our house—but alas ! only this 
morning it was broken into a thousand pieces.” 
The Prince looked up with interest. 

“ Not the famous Grimani goblet ? ” he exclaimed 
anxiously. “ That is indeed a misfortune. I had 
hoped to see it. May I ask how it happened r ” 
Silence fell on all the guests, and they bent 
forward to listen to the story. So intent were 
they that none of them noticed when the tall 
doors opened slowly and a little white ghost came 
into the room. # 

Marguerite had quite forgotten all about the 
dinner party and the Prince, and now she was 
so dazzled by the light that she could not turn 
and run away. She gave a half-strangled sob, 
which made her grandfather start and look round. 
There stood his granddaughter in her night-gown, 
with tangled curls and bare feet. 

Surely he had been tried enough for one day ! 
His most treasured possession had been destroyed, 
and now his royal guest must indeed think it an ill- 
ordered household, where such a thing as this 
could happen ! 


GODMOTHER’S GIFTS. 


43 

“ Marguerite ! ” he said in a cold, stern voice. 
“ What are you doing here ? Go to bed at once ! ” 

“ Grandfather,” she said, “ I came to tell 
you-” 

But her grandfather’s stern gaze made her falter, 
and she saw him raise his hand to ring the bell. 

She looked wildly round. Was there no one 
to help her ? Was she going to fail again, and go 
back to those black thoughts ? 

Then suddenly some one rose from the table and 
came towards her, and she was lifted in a pair of 
strong arms, and the very kindest face she had ever 
seen bent over her, and the most comforting voice 
whispered, “ Come and tell me all about it.” 

He carried her to the table under the blaze of 
the lighted candles, and she turned and hid her 
face against his coat. The earth had suddenly 
ceased to rock, and she felt safe; the blackness had 
gone, and there was nothing but blueness now. 
The merriest blue eyes looked down at her, and 
her cheek was pressed tight against a beautiful 
blue ribbon, and a wonderful star shone with a 
blue light upon his breast. 

“ Tell me all about it,” said the kind voice again. 

“ I wanted just to touch it because it was so 
beautiful,” she sobbed. “ Then I slipped, and 
it was broken all in pieces. Then I told a lie; 



44 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

and they will take Mario to prison, and mother 
will never know me again, because I have a black 
heart instead of a gold one ! ” 

“ So you came to confess. That’s a brave little 
maid,” said the kind voice. 

There was a murmur of other voices now, but 
Marguerite only looked at the blue ribbon, and 
pressed her cheek tightly against the glittering 
star. Then she heard her grandfather’s voice 
bidding her go back to bed now, and they would 
say no more about it, since she had confessed and 
was sorry. 

“ So that’s all right,” said the kind voice in her 
ear; and then she was lifted up in the strong arms 
again, and carried out of the room and up the 
stairs and back to her little white bed. Brigida 
had come to show the way, but she stood at a 
distance with respectful bowed head as the kind 
man bent over and talked to her. 

It was so easy to tell him everything, because 
he seemed at once to understand. He was quite 
sure grandfather would forgive her, and that the 
Prince would not be angry because she had come 
to the party in her night-gown. He understood, 
too, all about how anxious she was to grow like 
her name, and he was quite sure that the an 
would come back now to guard her bed. 


gels 


GODMOTHER’S GIFTS. 


45 

So Marguerite turned round with a sigh, and 
went to sleep with a hand under her cheek, dream¬ 
ing of blue skies, and shining stars, and fields of 
golden-hearted daisies. 

And not many days afterwards a little wooden 
box arrived at the palace addressed to Marguerite. 
And when she opened it she found another box 
with a golden crown upon it, and inside that, on 
a soft bed of cotton wool, there lay a locket made 
of gold, in the shape of a heart, set round with 
tiny white pearls. There was a paper, too, inside 
the box, and on it was written— 

“ To Marguerite, to remind her of the golden heart , 
and the tears that washed it clean again .” 

###### 

The little old lady’s voice ceased, and no one 
spoke for a moment. Then Margaret touched 
the locket reverently. 

“ I am glad I chose it,” she said. 

“ It was rather plucky of her to tell before all 
those people,” said Christopher. 

John had his arm round the little old lady’s neck 
and was whispering into her ear. 

“ Did you know he was the Prince ? ” he asked. 

“ Not till long afterwards,” she whispered back. 


TONINO’S CRUCIFIX. 


“ Please, may we have my story now ? ” said John, 
and he laid the crucifix in the little old lady’s hand 
and pressed closer to her side. 

“ It’s really my turn first,” said Christopher, 
“ and I expect my story about the man on horse¬ 
back will be a jolly lot more interesting, but you 
can have yours first if you like.” 

“ That’s right,” said the little old lady. “ The 
person who possesses S. Martin’s purse should learn 
to be generous. John shall have his story first. 
The crucifix is very old, but the story is quite 
new and has nothing to do with the legends of 
long-ago days. So now sit quietly on your chairs 
and I will tell you the story of Tonino’s Crucifix.” 

In the great hotels of the city, which in the 
season are crowded with visitors, there are always 
a great many waiters kept busy all through the 
winter and spring months. But when the great 
heat comes it drives away the strangers, and the 


TONINO’S CRUCIFIX. 


47 

hotels grow empty, and many waiters are dis¬ 
missed for the summer to find what work they 
may. 

Angelo always dreaded those summer months. 
He was a good waiter, but work was scarce, and 
it was almost impossible to make money enough 
during those three long months to feed his wife and 
Tonino. Everything they could sell was sold by 
degrees, and yet they were often obliged to go 
hungry. True they did not want to eat much in 
those hot days when the sky was like brass and 
the pavements burned the feet, and even the night 
brought no breath of coolness into the narrow city 
streets ; but one must eat to live. So it was a 
happy day indeed when the time came round to 
return to the hotel, and put on once more a shining 
black suit of clothes, and smell the good smell of 
coffee and cooking, and forget what it felt like 
to be empty and hungry. At first Angelo’s coat 
hung upon him as if it was quite two sizes too 
large. 

“ He looks as thin as a crow,” said the old lady 
upon whom he waited. 

But he was a very cheerful crow, and he 
knew that the coat would be quite tight before 
the summer came round again. The old lady was 
fond of cheerful faces, and she often stopped to / 


48 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

talk to Angelo, and by-and-by she heard all about 
his wife and little Tonino. 

“You may bring the child to see me some 
day,’* she said ; and Angelo was indeed a proud 
man when a week later he knocked at the door 
and asked if it was permitted to Tonino to enter 
and salute the gracious Signora. 

Tonino, with his black bullet head and bright 
eyes, looked so exactly a smaller edition of his 
father that the old lady smiled and called him “ a 
queer little crow,” but as she spoke in English it 
did not matter. The queer little crow looked at 
her with solemn, round eyes, and then, urged on 
behind by his father, he came forward and lifted 
her hand to kiss it, whispering a low “ Compli- 
menti, Signora ! ” 

“ He is much too thin,” said the old lady 
briskly. “ How old is he, Angelo ? ” 

“ He has but five years, Signora,” said Angelo, 
watching her anxiously, eager to please. 

“ Tuts ! he looks more like three,” she said. 

“ You must feed him up.” 

That would be an easy matter now, beamed 
Angelo. He was earning good wages, and the 
bambino would soon grow fat. 

Meanwhile Tonino’s black eyes were gazing 
in wonder at the pictures and all the wonderful v 


TONINO’S CRUCIFIX. 


49 

things in the room. Then he pointed suddenly to 
a little crucifix which hung on the wall close by, 
and said something quickly to his father. 

“ What does he say ? ” asked the old lady. 

“ He asks if it is a wonder-working crucifix,” 
said Angelo, smiling. “ He is thinking of the 
Crucifix of La Providenza, which works still 
such miracles.” 

“ I wonder ! ” said the old lady, and she looked 
reverently at the worn silver figure. Then she 
drew Tonino closer, and put a kindly hand upon 
his round, black head. 

“ The dear Lord can always work miracles,” 
she said. “ The little cross must always remind us 
of that.” 

Tonino nodded with great satisfaction; but 
just then a large slice of English plum cake and a 
picture book were placed before him, and he had 
no eyes for anything else. Very soon he carried 
his treasures off, as happy as a king. 

It was some weeks later that the old lady 
noticed that Angelo no longer looked so beam¬ 
ingly happy. She even caught him once or twice 
with a troubled, anxious look on his face. 

“ Come, out with it,” she said suddenly. 

“ Something is wrong. What is the matter ? ” 

Angelo looked very much ashamed of himself^/ 

(1,912) 4 


5 o MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

as if he had been caught doing something wrong; 
but at last he managed to explain apologetically 
that he had not meant to vex the Signora with 
sad looks, but the bambino was ill, and they had 
carried him to the hospital, and the boy was fit to 
break his heart with grief because of being parted 
from his mother. 

“Tuts!” said the old lady; “children’s hearts 
don’t break so easily. He will soon be all right. 
But I am sorry for your wife, poor thing. Tell 
her to call in to-morrow, after she has been to 
the hospital, and let me know if there is anything 
I can send to the child.” 

Angelo thanked her, and there was a misty 
look in his eyes. Tears of gratitude filled them 
readily when any one was good to his little son. 

“ Well, and how’s the boy ? ” asked the old 
lady next day when Angelo’s wife, Maria, stood 
curtsying inside the door. 

“ He is not very well,” said his mother; and 
then she went on to tell how terribly homesick 
he was in his little white bed in the middle of 
the great strange hospital ward. The sisters were 
very good to him, but he wanted his mother. All 
day long he was fairly contented, but when night 
came his one cry was for her, and his pillow was 
wet with tears as he sobbed himself to sleep. 


TONINO’S CRUCIFIX. 


5 1 

“ O Signora ! ”—she ended up her tale with 
a sob—“ the doctors to-day say that they fear he 
may die ! ” 

“ Come, come,” said the old lady, “ you must 
not be so down-hearted. A child so quickly be¬ 
comes ill, but as quickly grows well again. And 
they will take good care of him at the hospital.” 

“ Yes, yes,” said the mother, “ but it is so hard 
to leave him there when the child cries and cries 
and holds out his arms to me ! ” 

“ But you must remember it is for his good,” 
said the old lady. “ Come, cheer up and tell 
me if there is anything I can send to please and 
amuse him.” 

The poor woman stood twisting a corner of 
her coarse blue apron with hands that trembled. 
Would the Signora think her overbold ?—would 
she be asking too great a favour ?—but the little 
one talked constantly of a little crucifix he had 
seen here, and he thought it would make him 
well if he had it. Perhaps the Signora would 
lend it for a few days ? 

The old lady lifted the crucifix down and laid 
it in Maria’s toil-worn hand. 

“ Of course he shall have it, bless him ! ” she 
said, and she slipped something shining as well 
into her outstretched hand 


52 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

That night Maria lingered as long as she 
dared beside the little bed in the hospital. 
Tonino had been pleased when she brought the 
crucifix, and she had hung it above his bed where 
he could see it, and for a while he was quite con¬ 
tented and happy ; but as evening came on and his 
mother prepared to go, the old fear and loneliness 
seized him again. 

“ There, there,” said his mother, unclasping his 
little hot fingers and freeing her hand, “ I will 
come back early, and the night will soon pass.” 

“ But I am so lonely when thou art gone,” 
sobbed Tonino. “ I am so frightened when I 
wake and cannot feel thy hand.” 

The poor mother tried to speak cheerfully 
and call up a smile. She could not bear to leave 
him, but rules were rules, and it was time to go. 
She looked back and saw him watching her with 
eyes full of tearful longing, and she hurried on that 
she might not hear the sound of his pitiful cries. 

She was early at the hospital gates next day, 
but before she entered the ward a sister stopped 
her. 

“ It was as we feared,” she said gently—“ he 
passed away in the night.” 

The poor woman uttered a cry and hid her 
face in her hands. 


TONINO’S CRUCIFIX. 


53 

“ He was lonely and frightened, and wanted 
me, and I was not there ! ” she cried. 

“ No, no,” said the sister, “ take comfort! He 
was neither lonely nor frightened, but quite happy. 
He did not even need thee. We found him curled 
up as if asleep, with the happiest smile upon his 
lips and not a trace of tears upon his cheek. 
He must have stretched up and taken down the 
crucifix above his bed, for he held it lovingly 
cuddled close to his cheek, one hand clasping it 
fast ; and the look on his face was of perfect 
happiness and content. It was as if the dear 
Lord Himself had stooped down to comfort the 
little one before the angels bore him home.” 

There was silence in the room as the little old 
lady finished the story, and the firelight caught 
the glint of two tears that had fallen on the worn 
silver figure. 

“ I thought it would work a miracle and make 
him well,” said Christopher in a vexed voice. 

“ Miracles don’t happen now,” said Margaret 
reprovingly. 

“ I think they do,” said John slowly. “ It was 
only a little old crucifix, and yet it took away all 
the loneliness and frightenedness, and made him as 
happy as if his mother had been there.” 


S. MARTIN’S PURSE. 


“ It is my turn at last. Can I have my story 
now, please ? ” said Christopher, as he laid the 
purse on the little old lady’s knee and watched 
her anxiously. He was so very much afraid that 
she might have forgotten his story, or be too tired 
to tell it. 

But the fairy godmother nodded her head 
briskly, and a smile broke over her face as she lifted 
the purse in her hand and looked at it carefully. 

“ The world is full of wonderful things,” she 
said—“ too wonderful for an old woman who be¬ 
longs to the past. There are the motor cars that 
run about the streets as fast as trains, there are the 
messages carried through the air without wires, 
the pictures that move as if they were alive, and 
hosts of other marvels. But, oh dear me ! I have 
my own private share of magic wonders too, so 
I need not grumble.” 

“ Is it a magic purse ? ” asked Christopher 
breathlessly. 

“ Not exactly,” said the little old lady, “ and 


S. MARTIN’S PURSE. 


55 

yet, as I take it in my hand, it suddenly carries 
me back over eighty long years faster than any 
motor car could run. It whispers messages more 
clearly than any wireless telegraphy could do, and 
it shows me real living pictures which need no 
magic lantern. I will tell you your story, Chris¬ 
topher, while the magic works.” 

There was a pause, and the little old lady sat 
there smiling with a far-away look in her eyes, 
until Christopher grew impatient. 

“ What are you seeing, godmother ? ” he asked. 

“ Hush! ” she said ; “ wait one moment until the 
picture grows clearer. It takes some time to see 
through the mists of eighty years. Ah ! now I see 
it quite distinctly, and I can hear the voices too.” 

There were always many voices to be heard 
in the old house at the corner of the piazza, for 
it was a house full of children—some big, some 
middle sized, and some quite little ones. Teresa, 
the old nurse, often declared that she was quite 
deafened by the noise they made; and then she 
looked at Martin reproachfully. For it was Martin 
who led the others in their noisy games, and it 
was always Martin’s voice which sounded above 
all the rest. He was so very fond of giving orders 
and getting his own way. Francesca and Lucia 


56 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

might grumble, but they always gave in ; while 
as to Giovanino, who was only five, he was 
Martin’s adoring shadow. 

“ I shall be a soldier, like my godfather, some 
day,” said Martin, “ so I ought to give the orders, 
and you ought to obey.” 

But there was one thing that sorely tried 
Martin’s pride and helped to keep him humble. 
He had to wear his cousin’s old clothes. The 
clothes were not really old at all, for this cousin 
was an only child, whose parents bought him more 
costly things than he could ever wear out ; so 
when he grew tired of a suit it was packed up 
and sent off to Martin, who had so many little 
brothers and sisters to be clothed. The worst of 
it was that the cousin was not at all soldierly, and 
wore the kind of clothes which Martin hated. 
Indeed, sometimes he could have wept, if he 
hadn’t been nine years old, when he was obliged 
to wear velvet tunics and embroidered vests with 
silver buttons, and—worst of all—a green cloth 
coat scalloped all round the edge and trimmed 
with a lace collar ! 

However, on the afternoon when this story 
begins Martin was much too excited and happy 
to think about clothes, for his soldier godfather 
was coming to pay them a visit, and it was j 


S. MARTIN’S PURSE. 


57 

always a special festa when he came. All the 
children loved him, and he brought presents for 
them all; but he was Martin’s special property, 
and they always had a private conversation to¬ 
gether. Then, if he was satisfied with his god¬ 
son’s behaviour, he would add another good- 
conduct stripe to the one which Martin already 
wore so proudly, sewn on his sleeve, to the great 
admiration of his sisters and their little guest 
Marguerite, who was paying them a visit just then. 

Marguerite thought there was no one so clever 
and splendid as Martin ; but she was not accus¬ 
tomed to boys, and she sometimes grew terrified 
of all the noise and the wild games which Martin 
loved. 

“We shall play bears while we are waiting,” 
he said decidedly that afternoon, and Marguerite 
felt a cold shiver run down her back. 

It meant creeping into dark hiding-places, while 
Martin, as bear, prowled about stealthily and chased 
his prey with relentless ferocity, giving vent to the 
most terrible growling noises. 

Lucia and Francesca shrieked with joyful ex¬ 
citement as they were chased up the stairs to the 
tower and disappeared into the lumber room, while 
Giovanino squeezed his fat little person under his 
bed ; but Marguerite was too bewildered and ter- v 


58 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

rifled to seek any such refuge. She ran first one 
way and then another like a frightened chicken, 
and at last tried to hide herself behind the heavy 
window curtain. But the curtain did not reach 
the ground, and the most short-sighted of bears 
could not have helped seeing two ankles and a 
pair of bronze slippers which were exposed to 
view. The growling came nearer and nearer, 
while Marguerite trembled and held her breath, 
and at last gave a wild scream as she felt her 
ankles seized. 

“ Don’t make so much noise! ” said Martin, 
giving her an impatient shake while he dragged 
her out from behind the curtain. “You’ll bring 
Teresa in if you scream like that.” 

Marguerite was silent at once, but she looked 
at him with such round, frightened eyes that 
Martin really felt quite a successful bear, and was 
just going to grow more ferocious than ever when 
the door opened and Teresa came in. 

“ Leave the little Signorina alone,” she said. 
“Thou dost frighten her with thy rough games. 
Call the others and tell them to come and be 
dressed, for word has come that the Signora awaits 
thee in the salon.” 

In a short time the children were all dressed— 
the little girls in clean muslin frocks, and Giovanino / 


S. MARTIN’S PURSE. 


59 

in his best doublet; but sounds of a storm came 
from Martin’s room. He was ready too, all but 
his coat, and that he refused to put on in spite of 
all Teresa’s coaxing. If there was one thing in 
all the world which Martin hated it was that 
green scalloped coat with the lace collar. 

“ I will not put it on !” he said. “ I’d far rather 
wear sackcloth and ashes. If those old Bible people 
and the saints thought that sackcloth and ashes 
was the most wretched thing to wear, I should 
like to know how they would have felt if they’d 
been obliged to wear fancy green coats and lace 
collars! ” 

“ Do not think about it, poverino,” coaxed 
Teresa. “ Be good and slip it on.” 

“ I will not! ” cried Martin, stamping his foot. 

“ I will not see my godfather in that coat. He 
will laugh and think I am a puppet. How could 
a good-conduct stripe be sewn on a coat like 
that ? ” 

“ There will be no good-conduct badge for thee 
if thou art disobedient,” said Teresa calmly. 

“ Oh, be quick, Martin!” said Francesca through 
the open door. “ Never mind about your coat. 
We mustn’t keep mother waiting.” 

“ I will not wear that coat,” said Martin ob- / 
stinately. 


6 o MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


“Va bene! then thou shalt go to bed,” said 
Teresa. 

“You will get no present,” said Lucia, “and 
mother will be so vexed with you.” 

“O Martin, do come!” urged Marguerite. 

But Martin only turned his back on them and 
walked over to the window, whistling carelessly, as 
if he did not care at all. 

“ Come,” said Teresa to the others, “ leave him 
to himself; ” and she went out and shut the door. 

Martin climbed up on to the window seat and 
opened the window. Of course it was rather a 
grand and manly thing that he had done, but the 
thought of the others going down to greet his 
godfather, while he was left behind, was almost 
more than he could bear. The salon was just 
below his window, and opened on to the hanging 
garden which was built above the stables, so if he 
leaned out he could hear the voices below; and 
once he caught sight of his godfather as he strolled 
out to turn on the fountain, with Giovanino cling¬ 
ing to his hand. Even the babies were down 
there ; only he was left out. 

The sun was setting now, and the sky was all 
rose-pink, and by-and-by a great cloud of birds 
came fluttering home to their safe shelter in the 
trees. 


S. MARTIN’S PURSE. 


61 

“ The birds are singing their vespers,” Teresa 
used to say when the sound of their twittering 
voices came from the garden beneath, and the 
children always hushed their voices to listen ; but 
to-night Martin only wished crossly that they 
would not make so much noise and seem so happy. 
Presently the darkness began to fall swiftly like a 
soft, dark curtain drawn over the world, pricked 
here and there with pin-point holes to show the 
silver light beyond; but still he sat gazing out, 
watching the glow-worms round the fountain as 
they breathed themselves into tiny lamps and then 
disappeared again. 

He must have been sitting there a long time, 
and the longer he sat the more unhappy and ill- 
used he felt. No one missed him or sent for him, 
no one cared what became of him. Now he 
could hear a carriage driving out of the courtyard, 
and he knew that his godfather had gone. 

A very small knock sounded on the door. 
Martin said “ Avanti! ” very gruffly, and Mar¬ 
guerite looked in. 

“ Martin,” she said, “ do be good, for Teresa 
is coming, and I have saved up my present for 
you.” 

“ I don’t want any presents,” said Martin 
angrily. “ Go away ! ” 


62 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


Then, as he saw the frightened look come into 
her eyes, he added grimly,— 

“ And mind you look out at eight o’clock for 
Renard the Fox. He will be under your bed, and 
he will heave it up and down, and then he’ll come 
stealing out and gnaw off your toes.” 

That was more than Marguerite could bear. 
She dropped the thing she had been holding out 
in her hand, and turned to flee. 

But Teresa was standing behind her and barred 
the way. 

“ Cattivo ! ” she said sternly to Martin. " So 
thou wilt come out to frighten the Signorina when 
she is in bed. We will take care of that and lock 
the fox up in his den.” 

Here she shut the door and turned the key in 
the lock outside. 

Martin raged up and down in helpless fury, 
and then threw himself on his bed and thumped 
the pillow with his fists; but that didn’t make 
him feel much better. The moon was shining 
through the window now, and presently it showed 
him something bright lying by the door where 
Marguerite had stood. He snatched it up and 
carried it to the window to examine it more care¬ 
fully. It was a purse made of green knitted silk, 
and the fastening at the top was a beautiful old v 


S. MARTIN’S PURSE. 


6 3 

silver coin with figures embossed upon it. This 
was the present which Marguerite had brought for 
him, and which he had so ungraciously refused. 
He looked at the figures on the coin more 
closely. There was a man on horseback cutting 
his cloak in two with a sword, and another man 
was kneeling close by. Why, of course it was 
S. Martin’s coin, and it was the picture of the 
soldier saint dividing his cloak with the beggar 
man. It was then that a splendid idea came into 
Martin’s head. 

The soldier saint, his namesake, had shared his 
cloak with a beggar and gained great renown. He, 
too, would act a saint and soldier’s part. That scal¬ 
loped coat was hanging on the back of the chair 
where Teresa had left it. He would put it on 
and go out to find some poor beggar and share it 
with him. Of course the door was locked, but 
that only made it the more exciting. He had 
often longed to try the plan of the painter monk 
who had escaped from the Pitti Palace by making 
a rope of his sheets and climbing down to the 
street. It was not a long drop to the garden 
below, and once there he could slip through the 
salon and so down the great staircase and out 
through the courtyard. 

It was no easy matter to tie those sheets quite 


64 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

firmly together, but it was done at last, and one 
end was securely fastened to the iron bar which 
guarded the window. Then very carefully and 
cautiously Martin began the descent. 

It made him feel a little giddy at first, for the 
sheet rope swung from side to side, and he grazed 
his knuckles against the wall; but he went steadily 
lower and lower until he reached the end of the 
rope. 

What was to be done now ? He kicked his 
legs out wildly, in order to discover exactly where 
he was and how far off the ground he was hang¬ 
ing ; but there was nothing to guide him, and 
below all looked most dark and dangerous. For 
a moment he held his breath, and a cold fear 
gripped him ; but he had soldier blood in his veins, 
and he set his teeth and determined to go on and 
not be afraid. Besides, his arms were getting too 
tired to hold on much longer; so he stretched 
down as far as he could, and then let go and 
dropped. 

It was rather a long drop, but luckily he went 
thud into the soft earth of a flower-bed; and though 
the verbena and heliotrope were bruised and broken 
beneath him, his bones were quite safe. At first 
he lay half stunned, and then he sat up and 
tenderly felt himself all over to see if he had 


S. MARTIN’S PURSE. 


6 S 

gone to pieces. There were a few scratches on his 
legs and some rather painful bruises, and ugly tears 
in his clothes, but of course the coat was un¬ 
touched. A coat like that never came to harm ! 

No one was in the salon, and no one saw a little 
ghostlike figure softly open the long French win¬ 
dows and steal through the dim room and down 
the great staircase; but the real danger was still to 
be faced. Rafaello, the tall portiere, kept guard at 
the door of the courtyard, and it would be difficult 
to slip past him unnoticed if he was still there. 

Martin peered down, and his heart sank as he 
saw the tall figure in blue livery standing solemnly 
at the gate. There was nothing to do but to 
wait, so he crept farther into the shadow and kept 
a keen watch, like a very small mouse watching a 
very big cat. 

Presently Rafaello yawned and sat down on his 
rush-bottomed chair and took a folded newspaper 
out of his pocket. This was more promising, and, 
better still, as he read his head began to nod, and 
Martin determined to make ,a dash for it. Very 
noiselessly he crept nearer and nearer, and then 
with a swift dive he passed the gate and was out 
on to the pavement. 

There was a bewildered shout from Rafaello, 
but he was too late. Martin was round the corner ^ 

( 1 , 912 ) 5 


66 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


like a flash of lightning, and the darkness of the 
little narrow street swallowed him up completely. 
Never in all his life had he enjoyed himself more. 
He almost forgot he was out on a saint’s errand. 
It was so exciting to be quite alone and free to go 
wherever he liked in the dark streets that looked 
so alluring and mysterious, with here and there a 
little lighted shop to add to their fascination. 

It was a pity that he had no money in his 
pockets. The smell of roast chestnuts which 
came from the barrow at the street corner was 
very appetizing, and the chestnuts themselves 
looked deliciously warm and snug in their beds 
when the man turned back the old blanket that 
covered them for a moment while he shovelled in 
a fresh supply. The large pale slabs of polenta 
looked good too ; and Martin had had no supper, 
and was decidedly hungry. Several little ragged 
boys joined him as he stood gazing into the open 
cookshop, and immediately held out their hands. 

“ Soldino, Signorino ! ” they chanted as usual. 

The sight of them suddenly reminded Martin of 
his errand, which he had almost forgotten. 

“ I have no soldi,” he said to the smallest and 
most ragged of the boys; “ but if you will come 
with me I will give you something else.” 

The other boys eagerly pressed forward too, but / 


S. MARTIN’S PURSE. 


67 

Martin waved them back. He only wanted one 
beggar boy, and not a crowd; so he walked on 
until the others followed no longer, and then he 
stopped by a doorway and looked solemnly at the 
boy. 

“Would you like a nice warm coat?” he 
asked. 

“ But the winter is passed,” said the boy. “ I 
would rather have a soldino to buy polenta.” 

Martin frowned. This was most annoying, and 
not at all like S. Martin’s grateful beggar. It was 
very tiresome of him not to want a coat. 

“ I have told you I have no soldi,” he said 
briefly, “ but I will share my coat with you.” And 
he pulled his knife out of his pocket and began to 
take off the green coat. 

It was delightful to think of ripping that coat 
right up the back, beginning at one of the scallops 
and ending at the neck. Of course a knife was 
not as dignified as a sword, but it was better than 
nothing. 

“ Hold it tight while I cut,” he said as he held 
out one side to the boy and grasped the other 
firmly in his left hand. 

The small beggar looked on in wild amazement. 
The Signorino must be quite mad to spoil a hand¬ 
some coat like that ! It was worth a handful of 


68 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


soldi, but it would be quite worthless if it was 
cut up. 

“ Ma che ! ” he shouted as the knife began to 
saw its way up, and he suddenly jerked the coat 
out of Martin’s hand and made off with it as fast 
as his legs could carry him. 

Martin quite forgot that he was acting the part 
of a saint, and, hot with indignation, immediately 
gave chase. Straight down the narrow street he 
ran and out into the Via Tornabuoni with its 
lighted shops, and almost before he knew what he 
was doing he had charged into a group of officers, 
in their long blue cloaks, who were standing chat¬ 
ting outside a restaurant there. 

“ What in the name of fortune are you doing 
here without a coat ? ” asked an astonished voice 
which Martin knew only too well. And there 
stood his godfather looking at him in blank 
amazement! 

Martin wished with all his heart that the 
ground would open and swallow him up; but the 
ground remained firm beneath his feet, and there 
was no escape. He hung his head, while the 
officers began to laugh and joke about his appear¬ 
ance, and to ask him if it was his full-dress 
uniform. 

“ It’s a case of desertion, I’m afraid,” said his , 


S. MARTIN’S PURSE. 69 

godfather. “ I must put him under arrest and 
march him back to barracks.” 

It was on the way home that Martin managed 
to explain in a rather stammering fashion how he 
came to be running about the streets without a 
coat. Somehow it did not sound a very splendid 
deed now, and he cast a good deal of the respon¬ 
sibility on S. Martin, while he looked up hope¬ 
fully for a sign of sympathy on his godfather’s 
face. 

But there was no sympathy there. Martin had 
never seen him look so stern or heard him speak 
so gravely. 

“ I am disappointed in you, Martin,” he said. 
“A soldier’s first duty is obedience. You will 
never make a soldier if you try to escape from 
disagreeable duties and make pious excuses for 
getting your own way. To give away what you 
don’t want, and which costs you nothing, is not 
self-denial. And have you forgotten the end of 
the story of S. Martin’s cloak ? Did you look 
forward to seeing that coat of yours again in any 
heavenly vision ? ” 

It was a very miserable Martin who was handed 
over to Teresa to be put to bed, for he knew now 
that he had forfeited all his stripes, and perhaps he 
would never get another. He watched her silently 


70 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

as she pulled in the sheet rope, muttering to herself 
and thanking the saints that he had not broken 
every bone in his body, as he thoroughly deserved 
to do. He was still waiting dejectedly until his 
bed should be ready, when the clock struck eight, 
and a little white ghost crept into his room and 
stood by his side. 

“ Martin,” it said, “ I’ve come to say good¬ 
night, and you can keep the purse for your very 
own. Only please don’t let the fox come to¬ 
night ! ” 

“ All right,” said Martin gruffly. It certainly 
was not a very soldierly or brave thing to frighten 
a little girl, and he seemed to hear his godfather 
say again, “You will never make a soldier.” 
###### 

The little old lady’s voice ceased, but she still 
had that far-away look in her eyes, and John 
ventured to whisper softly,— 

“ Are you seeing any more pictures, god¬ 
mother ? ” 

“ Yes,” said the little old lady—“ yes, I see S. 
Martin’s purse once more, but it is a sad picture 
this time. Outside in the streets the soldiers are 
marching past, and the Hymn of Garibaldi comes 
floating through the open window, drowned every 
now and then by cheer after cheer which bursts 


S. MARTIN’S PURSE. 


7 1 

from the waiting crowds—cheers that tell of a great 
battle won for freedom and for Italy. But in the 
room on a low bed lies a soldier wounded unto 
death. A girl is kneeling by his side, and she 
holds in her hand the old green purse and listens 
to the few whispered words he tries to speak. 

“ ‘ I have always kept it, Marguerite. It has 
helped me to remember how to be a true soldier. 
Do you remember that night ? How the rope 
swings! Shall I ever be able to drop safely into 
the garden ? I shall never make a soldier, he says, 
because I only gave away what cost me nothing ; 
and what would I feel like if I saw that horrid 
little green coat in a heavenly vision ? ’ 

“ ‘ It’s all right, Martin,’ the girl says. ‘You 
are as brave a soldier as S. Martin himself. You 
have given what costs you more than all the 
world beside, and you will find it again, not in a 
heavenly vision, but in Paradise itself.’ ” 


HEARTSEASE. 


The Madonna looked down from her marble 
pedestal at the corner of the grim old palace. 
Silent and serene she stood, the whiteness of her 
folded robe shining out against the blue sky 
above and reflected in the green water beneath. 
She no longer seemed to trouble herself with the 
trials and temptations of her poor children who 
toiled for their daily bread in the narrow calles 
or out on the wide lagunes. The days had surely 
gone past since she stood to the people as the 
symbol of hope and help—the happy days when 
a miracle might happen at any time, when the 
Madonna would stoop down and with her 
gracious hand lift a burden from some tired 
shoulder, or send a heavenly messenger to do her 
work of healing and comfort. 

There was a small black boat tied up at the side 
of the canal under the shadow of the Madonna, 
and in it a ragged little fisher boy sat gazing up 
at the statue, while the boat rocked idly to and 
fro. All sorts of difficult questions puzzled him v 


The Madonna looked down from her marble pedestal* 
















































HEARTSEASE. 


73 

as he gazed with solemn round eyes at the white 
figure up there against the blue sky, set on her 
white marble pedestal festooned with the delicate 
mauve of the trailing wistaria. He knew, of 
course, it was a statue of the Madonna, the Queen 
of Heaven ; and he knew, too, many an old tale 
of her marvellous power and the miracles she had 
wrought to help the poor and needy and those 
who had no other helper. He wondered why she 
no longer cared for her children—why there was 
no help in these days for the helpless, and why so 
many things in the world seemed all wrong. No 
one cared if he went hungry; no one noticed how 
tired his mother looked, as she tried to work and 
look after the wailing baby at the same time. His 
grandmother was too old and feeble to carry such 
heavy burdens, but who was to carry them for her ? 
The neighbours around were as poor as themselves, 
and there was no one to look to for help. What 
a pity it was that even the Madonna had forgotten 
the poor tired ones of the earth ! For the moment 
it was pleasant to sit there in the shade and watch 
the Madonna overhead; but soon the tide would 
turn, and then there would be no more idle dream¬ 
ing, for he would have to be off ere the fishing 
boats set sail and try once more to earn a few soldi 
out on the lagunes. 


74 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

The boat rocked as the steamers troubled the 
waters of the Grand Canal outside, and the little 
waves lapped against its side with a crooning 
rhythm. The sunbeams, dancing through the pale 
yellow leaves and mauve blossoms overhead, warmed 
the white marble with their amber glow. It was all 
very pleasant and soothing, and gradually the black, 
angry thoughts faded from Marco’s mind and his 
eyelids began to droop. After all, what was the 
use of being angry, even if the Madonna had 
ceased to care, if angels never visited the earth, 
and all the saints were dead and gone ? 

“ Marco,” said a gentle voice in his ear; and 
Marco looked up. Somehow it did not surprise 
him at all to see a tall, gracious lady bending over 
him, or to feel her touch upon his shoulder and see 
her hand held out towards him. He was sure he 
had seen her face before somewhere, but the beauty 
and graciousness of her look kept him tongue-tied. 

“ Come,” she said, and before he knew what 
he was doing his hand was in hers, and she was 
leading him up the steps, on to the shining white 
pavement. 

On and on they went together, in and out the 
narrow calles; and Marco still said never a word, 
but pressed close to her side, willing to go wher¬ 
ever she should lead. It was not long before they 


HEARTSEASE. 


75 

came to an old courtyard, and here they entered 
and stopped for a moment to rest. 

There was a well in the middle of the courtyard, 
round which the pigeons fluttered, and an old 
woman stood leaning at its side. She had stopped 
to rest for a moment before she stooped to lift the 
heavy copper water-pot which she had just filled 
with the cool, sparkling water from the well 
below. She was a very feeble old woman, and 
her trembling hands were worn and scarred with 
work ; but she had a smile on her face which had 
wiped out all trace of weariness, and made it shine 
with peaceful content. 

“The Madonna be praised that I still have 
strength to draw the water from her well! ” she 
said. 

“ What is it that thou dost see ? ” asked the 
gentle voice in Marco’s ear. 

“ A poor old woman, too old and feeble to carry 
her burden,” said Marco. 

“ Look again,” said the voice. 

Marco looked, and now he saw another figure 
standing there. Was it an angel, he wondered— 
that strong, straight, shining figure that held the 
handle of the water-pot and eased its weight from 
the feeble hands of the old woman ? 

“My heavenly messengers still come to lift the^ 


76 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

burden from off the weary shoulders of my toiling 
children,” said the voice. “ Foolish people say 
no help is sent, but that is because they do not 
know the Angel of the Thankful Spirit.” 

Marco looked down with eyes ashamed. 

“ Come,” said the voice again, and this time 
they stopped at the door of a poor tumble-down 
house where a young mother sat rocking her baby. 
She was crying softly as she wrapped a little black 
shawl round the child and tried to hush it to 
sleep. The neighbours, looking on with pitying 
eyes, said to one another, “ Poor thing ! Who is 
to help her now with her fatherless little one ? ” 

They did not see what Marco saw. His beau¬ 
tiful lady had left him, and was bending over the 
poor mother, whispering in her ear and laying a 
hand in blessing upon the baby’s downy head. 

“ I was once a poor mother like thee,” she said. 
“ I held my Baby close in poverty and danger. I 
know so well the pain of thy heart. And because 
of my Baby all babies are precious to me. Have 
faith and courage, and believe that help will come.” 

The young mother dried her eyes and smiled 
down upon the sleeping child. The thought had 
come into her mind how that the dear Lord had 
been once a little helpless bambino, and surely 
He would not forget. He who had fed the five 


HEARTSEASE. 


77 

thousand — who cared even for the sparrows — 
would not fail to provide food for this little one. 
Suddenly her heart felt light and hopeful again. 
There was Some One who cared. 

“ Come,” said the voice in Marco’s ear, and 
he felt the strong hand leading him on once more. 

“ What dost thou see here ?” asked the voice as 
they turned into the garden of a hospital where a 
nurse was slowly pacing along the sunny walk. 

“ I only see a woman,” said Marco. He was 
puzzled. There was nothing remarkable about 
her. He wondered why they had stopped to gaze 
at her. 

“ Look again,” said the voice, “ and look care¬ 
fully, for it is one of God’s saints who walks here.” 

Marco looked intently, but he saw only a 
hospital nurse in a clean blue frock and snowy 
cap. She was neither beautiful nor stately, and 
there was certainly no halo round her head. 
Only her eyes looked kind, and there was a calm, 
peaceful air about her. 

“ Look then at the path where her footsteps 
have just passed,” said the voice. 

Marco looked, and there, where her foot had 
pressed, little tender pansies had sprung up—the 
flowers that people call Heartsease. 

“God’s saints still walk the earth,” said the^ 


78 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

voice, “ only human eyes are too blind to mark 
them as they pass.” 

“ Ohi, ohi ! ” The shout in Marco’s ears 
made him spring to his feet and nearly tumble 
over the side of the little black boat. 

A great market barge was trying to squeeze its 
way along the narrow canal, and it had bumped 
against his boat. There was a delicious smell of 
fresh strawberries in the air, for one of the tall 
baskets had been overturned, and the crimson fruit 
was scattered amongst the cabbages and artichokes. 

“ A pleasant spot to lie down and dream in ! ” 
said the bargeman angrily. “ Out of the way with 
you ! ” 

Marco drew his boat aside after pointing out 
that he had as much right to the canal as any 
overloaded, ill-guided barge; and then, as the 
further remarks of the bargeman were lost in the 
distance, he sat down once more and looked up at 
the Madonna. 

There she stood, as calm and cold and stately as 
ever, while the shadow of the wistaria began to 
throw long blue patterns across the marble base. 

“ I wonder,” he said, “ if it is all really so—if 
the help is really there, and only our eyes are too 
blind to see it ? ” 


SANDRO’S SEARCH. 

I. 

Spring had come once more to the old city of 
Florence, and the traces of her dainty fingers could 
be seen in many a basket of sweet violets, glowing 
anemones, and scented lilies. Against the old gray 
walls of the Strozzi palace were piled great sheaves 
of tulips—large crimson and golden globes, and 
delicate little pointed red-and-white-striped blos¬ 
soms—which made a gay show under those frown¬ 
ing walls with their heavy iron rings, and breathed 
a message of spring and gladness to all who 
passed. 

It seemed, indeed, as if at any turn one might 
meet the fair Primavera of Botticelli with her 
dainty flowing robes, dancing along in the soft 
April sunshine, scattering flowers as she went, 
and banishing with her gentle breezes the cruel 
Tramontana, which had been sweeping the city 
so long with his icy breath. The streets were 
thronged, for it was the season when the City/ 


8 o MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


of Flowers drew many strangers into her magic 
circle and Eastertide was close at hand. 

In the poorer quarter of the city, just inside 
one of the great gates, a woman was working in 
an attic room very near the sky. Her fingers 
moved with lightning speed as she plaited the 
straw braids, and she sang a little soft, cheerful 
song as she worked, glancing every now and then 
at the swaddled form of the baby who lay like a 
little chrysalis on the poor bed close by. A boy 
of eight stood watching her with impatient, bright 
eyes, and now and then he gave a tug at her blue 
apron to turn her attention to himself. 

“ Mammina,” he said, “ if thou wouldst but 
stop for a moment and listen to me! It is always 
the straw or the bambinetto that fills thy hands. 
I wish there was no straw ! I wish there was no 
tiresome bambino ! ” 

“ Two very foolish wishes, little Sandro,” said 
his mother, smiling rather sadly at the impatient 
face. “ If there was no straw, how should I make 
money to buy bread and polenta and the chestnuts 
thou dost love so well ? And how empty our 
hearts would be if there was no little brother to 
love and care for ! ” 

“ If only we had lived in the days when saints 
walked the earth, how easy it would have all been 


SANDRO’S SEARCH. 


81 


then ! ” said Sandro gloomily. “ When they were 
hungry God sent His angels, or else told the ravens 
to bring them delicious little loaves of white 
bread. There was no need of straw for them. If 
a bambino cried all day with pain, they would 
come and with a touch make him well and 
strong. Oh, I wish the kind saints were alive in 
the world now ! ” 

The mother smiled and stopped her work for 
a moment as she put an arm round Sandro’s 
shoulder. 

“ There are many, many saints alive in the world 
to-day,” she said. 

Sandro impatiently pushed her arm away. 
“Thou art mocking me, Mammina,” he said. 

“ No, no, little son,” said his mother. “ It is 
truth that I tell thee. God has perhaps as many 
saints to-day doing work for Him in the world 
as in those olden times thou dost love to hear 
about.” 

“ But why, then, have I not seen them ? ” asked 
Sandro, his eyes growing round with astonishment. 
“ Are they among the priests in the grand proces¬ 
sion I saw in the Duomo ? Do they all have 
shining lights around their heads ? Have they 
a guard of angels ? Do the tall white lilies grow 
wherever they tread ? ” 

( 1 , 912 ) 


6 



82 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


“ No, no,” said his mother again. “ God’s 
saints to-day have no glory round their heads, 
no guard of white-robed angels that we can see. 
They tread the common dusty streets of our town, 
and no flowers spring up to show where they have 
passed.” 

“Then how can we know that they are saints?” 
asked Sandro breathlessly. “ How shall I ever find 
one ? I am sure a real saint would be very good 
to me, and would comfort me when the pain is 
bad, and even cure the leg that hurts. Canst 
thou tell me how I can surely learn to know 
a real saint if by chance I meet one in the 
street ? ” 

“ There are many signs to guide thee,” said his 
mother slowly. “ Although they have no light 
around their heads that we can see, a light of love 
shines in their eyes. No flowers spring up to 
mark their footsteps, but their way is sown with 
kind words, kind deeds, and gentle actions. Is 
the pain worse to-day, little son, that thou art so 
anxious to seek for a hidden saint ? ” 

“ No; it hurts but little to-day,” said Sandro. 
“ I am but waiting to go with thee to the market, 
as thou didst promise.” 

“ Well, we will start out at once,” said his 
mother, packing away her last roll of plaited straw 


SANDRO’S SEARCH. 83 

into the old basket, and lifting the sleeping baby 
in her arms. 

“ Dost thou think, little mother, that perhaps 
this very day we may meet a saint ? ” asked Sandro 
excitedly, as they climbed down the long, uneven 
stone stairs. 

“ Who knows ? ” laughed his mother. “ But 
see that thou dost keep a tight hold on my apron. 

I would not have thee lose thyself in the search.” 

It was a gay, bright world that morning, for 
the sun was shining and the air was soft, and 
every one was rejoiced to think that spring had 
come. There was so much to look at as they 
went along that Sandro was too busy to talk, and 
he wished his mother would not walk so fast. 
There were the shops with their smoking cakes of 
chestnut flour that invited one to linger and sniff 
the appetizing smell of cooking, rolled green balls 
of steaming spinach, pale yellow heaps of lupin 
seeds, and long wooden sticks with roasted sparrows 
impaled upon them, nestling between little squares 
of fried toast. How hungry Sandro felt as he 
gazed at all the dainties ! Then farther on, when 
they crossed the bridge under which the yellow 
river rolled, there were great baskets of golden 
oranges laid out in tempting array. Of course 
there were other things to look at, but theses 



84 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

were the things that Sandro saw. He was such 
a hungry little boy, and being no saint, neither 
angels nor ravens had fed him with white loaves 
that morning. Presently, however, when they had 
threaded their way through the narrow streets, 
and had come to the square where the people 
thronged around the flower market, Sandro forgot 
to long for polenta or oranges. The scent of the 
flowers was so delicious. He could see the great 
boughs of pink almond blossom and the yellow 
rosettes of the banksia roses, high above the 
heads of the people, against the stone pillars of 
the market-place. 

“ See,” said his mother, “ if thou wilt stay 
beside the fountain here, thou wilt be safe enough, 
and canst watch the people while I go and sell my 
straw. After that I will return and fetch thee.” 

Sandro was only too glad to rest for a while, 
and the old bronze boar was a great friend of his. 
He knew each frog and newt that bordered the 
edge of the fountain, and he loved to polish them 
up until they shone. But to-day he had no time 
to spare for old friends. His eyes were round 
with delight and wonder as he gazed upon the 
world of rainbow colour. There were banks of 
velvet pansies—purple, yellow, and white; sweet 
narcissus, anemones of every hue, crimson roses, 


SANDRO’S SEARCH. 85 

pale pink tulips, and violets of palest mauve and 
darkest purple. The people went from stall to 
stall like bees, seeking the sweetest flowers. Stately 
ladies were there, and peasant women, little fair¬ 
haired English girls in dainty dresses, and bare¬ 
footed Tuscan maidens with gay handkerchiefs tied 
over their heads. 

Close at hand, near the fountain, there was a 
stall of tall white lilies which reminded Sandro 
of the saint pictures he loved so much. Then a 
happy thought struck him. Why, it might be 
possible that here, among this very crowd, there 
might, even now, be passing one of those hidden 
saints of whom his mother spoke. 

Eagerly he looked from one to another. If 
only the saints still wore a golden halo, how much 
easier it would be to find them! Suddenly he 
held his breath, and a great wave of delight flooded 
his soul. Surely he had found his saint! There 
before the lily stall stood a tall fair lady in a robe 
of some soft silken blue. The golden hair that 
framed her face under her shady hat was like spun 
gold ; fair as any Madonna she stood holding a 
sheaf of lilies in her arms, and she smiled as she 
bent her head to smell their perfume. 

Sandro pushed his way eagerly up the steps. 
If he could but touch her blue robe and look into 


86 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


her eyes, she, being a saint, would understand all 
about the pain and hunger, without any need of 
words. Timidly he came closer, and with one little 
brown hand he tugged at a fold of the silken gown. 

The next moment the robe was snatched from 
his fingers and an angry voice sounded in his ears. 

“ Dirty little boy, how dare you touch me ? ” 

Sandro did not understand the words, for she 
spoke in English; but he understood only too well 
the angry tones, the shrinking back of his saint, 
and the disgust in the eyes that had never a smile 
in them now. 

“ Little vagabond,” cried the flower-seller, dart¬ 
ing out from behind his flowers, “ I will teach 
thee to soil the robes of the forestiere wkh thy 
grimy fingers ! ” and a sound box on the ears fol¬ 
lowed this remark. 

Poor little Sandro ! He did not know which 
hurt him most, his bitter disappointment or his 
smarting ear. He crept back to the old bronze 
boar, and lay there sobbing until he felt a gentle 
hand laid upon his shoulder and heard his mother’s 
voice. 

“ What is it, little son ? What is it that has 
vexed thee so sorely ? ” 

It was too difficult to tell the tale there, so he 
only sobbed out that he was “ so tired.” 


SANDRO’S SEARCH. 


8 7 

“ Never mind,” she said. “ See, I have sold the 
straw, and I can carry thee part of the way home.” 
And soon she was trudging along wearily home¬ 
wards, staggering under the weight of the tired 
child and the sleeping baby. Little by little as 
they went Sandro told her about the saint he had 
found who was no saint at all. 

“ She had no kind smile in her eyes,” he said, 
“ and she spoke no comforting words; and yet she 
looked so very beautiful.” 

“ It is wiser not to trust to what looks out¬ 
wardly so fair,” said his mother. “ The saints, 
thou knowest, were not always those who looked 
the fairest.” 


II. 

The next day was the holy fast of Good Friday, 
and a solemn stillness hung over the city. The 
bells, which on every other day of the year rang 
out each hour, were silent now. In every church 
there had been laid out the day before a little 
garden which was called the Sepulchre, and in 
which were placed the instruments of the Passion— 
the nails, the cross, and the hammer. Sometimes, 
too, one saw the cock in memory of that sorrowful 
lesson taught to S. Peter. 


88 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


In this busy, noisy world of everyday affairs 
it was well to step aside for a moment to enter 
one of the dim, silent churches, to kneel by the 
little gardens, to look upon the cross, the nails, 
and the hammer, and remember all that they 
meant. 

Sandro had been too tired to visit the seven 
sepulchres with his mother the day before, but 
to-day he limped away by himself to the Church 
of the Carmine, which was only a little way down 
the street. 

“ Perhaps I shall find my saint to-day,” he said 
to himself hopefully. “ There will surely be many 
of them in the church, and I shall learn to know 
them.” 

Up the steps he went and into the dim church, 
which felt chilly after the bright sunshine outside. 
Only a few people were gathered here, and the 
church looked very mournful in its black hang¬ 
ings. Only from one lamp shone a faint gleam of 
light, and by that gleam Sandro could see the 
figure of our Lord laid out in the garden of pale 
green grasses. A poor peasant woman with tears 
streaming down her cheeks was kneeling there, 
kissing the feet where the nail-prints showed so 
clearly, clasping her rough, toilworn hands to¬ 
gether as she prayed. 


SANDRO’S SEARCH. 89 

Sandro wondered whether this could be a saint. 
He looked at the worn petticoat, the old coloured 
handkerchief covering her gray hair, the broken 
shoes, and he thought it could not be. 

“ She is just a poor woman like old Nonna,” he 
murmured, and turned away again. 

Outside the door he paused to watch a pro¬ 
cession of black-robed men pass by. He knew 
them well, for they were the Misericordia— 
“Brothers of Pity”—who went about the town 
nursing the sick and helping those in trouble. 
Their black, pointed cowls were pulled over their 
faces, and all that could be seen were their eyes, 
gleaming through the two eyeholes. No one 
knew who they were, for it was in this way that 
they did their good deeds in secret. 

Sandro almost clapped his hands with glee as he 
saw them pass slowly along carrying a litter where, 
under the black pall, a sick man lay. Why, of 
course these must all be God’s saints. The light 
that gleamed from their eyes through the holes 
in the black cowls had always seemed to him so 
bright that it half frightened him ; and surely good 
deeds and kind actions marked their footsteps. 
The great black hats fastened on their backs were 
certainly very unlike the golden halos of the pic¬ 
tured saints ; but, then, had not the little mother 


9 o MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

said that people must not be judged by outward 
appearances ? 

So Sandro joined the crowd that followed the 
brothers, and he limped along as fast as he could 
to keep up with them. Very soon the proces¬ 
sion halted at the hospital, and the black-robed 
brothers laid down their burden. One of the men 
stood close to Sandro, and for a moment lifted his 
black cowl to wipe his brow. He was tired and 
hot, for the burden had been a heavy one. 

“ Oh, please,” said a little voice at his side—and 
he felt his robe seized and held tightly—“ I have 
been following thee for so long ! Please do not 
walk so fast! ” 

“ Come, come, be off with you,” said the 
brother, pulling away his black robe somewhat 
roughly. “ What business is it of thine to follow 
at all ? Be off before I give thee the good shaking 
thou deservest. Children must always try to see all 
that is to be seen, whether it concerns them or not.” 

So, after all, Sandro had made another mistake. 
A saint would have understood that he meant no 
harm, and that it was not idle curiosity which had 
made him follow. A saint would not have left 
him there, tired and shaken with sobs, to creep into 
the first doorway and cry his heart out. 

“ Mother,” he said, when he had toiled wearily 


SANDRO’S SEARCH. 


9 1 

home again, “ thou art wrong—indeed thou art 
wrong. There are no saints now, and I am so 
tired and hungry.” 

“ Poor lamb ! ” said his mother, as she drew him 
on to her knee and wiped his little dirty face and 
dusted his weary feet, “ thou hast not yet found 
thy saint, then ? Thou must search yet again. 
But now see, there is a great slice of bread waiting 
for thee, and who knows but thou shalt have an 
egg all to thyself when the festa comes! ” 


III. 

Holy Saturday dawned bright and clear, and 
there was a stir in the city like the awakening of 
spring. Early in the morning the gates of the 
city were thronged by the country folk making 
their way in through the gates. For this was the 
day when the great sight of the dove and the car 
of fireworks was to be seen in the piazza of the 
Duomo. 

Sandro was up with the lark, watching the 
streams of people as they passed. He knew how 
anxious they were, and how much depended upon 
that day. For was it not true that if the dove, 
whirling along the wire from the high altar in 


92 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

the Cathedral, struck the car fair and square 
and set off the fireworks without mishap, then 
it was a sign that the coming harvest would 
be a good one, and food would be plentiful 
again ? 

“ Mammina,” said Sandro anxiously, “thou art 
coming to see the dove to-day ? ” 

“ No, child,” she answered, her swift hands 
never pausing as she plaited the straws with light¬ 
ning speed. “ I must work hard to-day, that we 
may hold a real festa to-morrow, and be able, 
besides, for the dear Lord’s sake, to give a little to 
some one else who is hungry.” 

A cloud came over Sandro’s face, and he kicked 
the leg of the table crossly. 

“ Thou art always working, working, and never 
canst do what I want,” he said. 

“If thou art a careful, good boy, thou shalt go 
by thyself to see the dove,” said his mother cheer¬ 
fully. “And perhaps to-day in the great crowd 
thou mayest find thy saint after all.” 

“ That is true, that is true,” cried Sandro glee¬ 
fully, and he hurried out of the door and down¬ 
stairs without another thought of the kind eyes 
that followed him with such patient love shining 
in them. 

Already the crowds had begun to gather round 


SANDRO’S SEARCH. 


93 


the Cathedral. The little round baptistery was 
hemmed in by a great sea of heads, and Giotto’s 
Tower in its white purity seemed to spring like a 
fair lily, eternally tranquil, from the swaying mass 
of people below. 

Sandro edged himself through the crowd slowly 
but persistently, and at last made his way into the 
great Cathedral, and by standing on tiptoe managed 
to dip two fingers into the holy water font. 
Even here the crowd was swaying to and fro; but 
from the high altar to the great doors, which were 
thrown wide open, there was a passage kept free, 
and above ran the wire which was fastened to the 
car outside. There were many strangers there who 
hired chairs and sat themselves in the front row, 
laughing and talking as if they had come to see a 
show; but behind there was many a sunbrowned, 
anxious face watching in silence to see what fortune 
awaited the dove that day. Then came a stir as 
the procession of priests passed in, and the gold- 
embroidered baldacchino was held aloft over the 
head of the archbishop. 

Sandro had pushed his way well to the front by 
this time, and stood gazing at the priests as they 
passed. What gorgeous vestments they wore— 
crimson, gold, and purple! How the gleaming 
light of the candles lit up the dark Cathedral, heavy 


94 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

with incense, and the solemn sound of the chant 
floated upwards in the dim aisles ! 

Here and there little boys were darting in and 
out of the procession, catching the candle drippings 
that fell on the marble floor; but Sandro’s soul was 
lifted high above such earthly matters as collecting 
wax. Surely, he thought, these must be God’s 
saints, clad in such wondrous robes and singing 
His praises, which, mingled with the sweet blue 
smoke of the incense, seemed to float up to the 
very gates of heaven. 

The procession paused for a moment, and Sandro 
found himself close to one of the golden-robed 
priests. He held his breath, and then took one 
step forward. Kneeling down, he lifted the lace- 
edged robe to his lips. 

“ Out of the way, child ! ” he heard a deep voice 
say as the procession prepared to move on again; 
and the priest stooped down and gave him a little 
shake and a backward push, muttering something 
about the nuisance these children were, so anxious 
always to collect the wax ! 

The shake did not hurt Sandro at all and the 
push was not a rough one, but the sound of the 
impatient voice and the angry look on the priest’s 
face struck him as if he had received a blow. The 
priest had looked so like a saint, and the disappoint- 


The procession of priests passed in. 


















i 


% r 








- ' + . j • • 


— • 







■ v ! 








SANDRO’S SEARCH. 


95 

ment was so bitter. Sandro limped towards the 
door and out into the piazza. He did not care 
where he went—he only wanted to get away from 
every one—and he did not hear the shouts of warn¬ 
ing that rose from the crowd as he walked across 
the space kept clear around the car, which was 
dangerous ground. 

There were a roar and a rush and a blinding flash. 
The dove whizzed with terrific speed along the 
tightly stretched wire, and a great “ Ah-h-h ! ” of 
satisfaction arose from the crowd as the flint was 
struck and the fireworks began to go off with 
wild, terrific cracklings and loud explosions. Surely 
there was one explosion louder than the rest, and 
something was seen to fly from off the car and hit 
the ground. 

The crowd pressed nearer and tried to peer 
through the blue smoke that wreathed the car in 
wild, fantastic, blending shapes. Then a pitying 
cry arose as a little limp figure of a child was 
carried off in the arms of one of the Cara¬ 
binieri. 

“ Killed ! ” said one. 

“ Struck by a bomb from the car,” said another. 

“ Nonsense ! ” said the soldier, pushing his way 
out. “ The child was scarcely touched. He is only 
frightened, not hurt.” 


96 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

Sandro opened his eyes and clung tightly to the 
strong arms that held him. 

“Let me go home,” he wailed; “I want my 
mother! ” 

“Off with thee, then,” said the soldier, setting 
him down, glad to get rid of his burden. 

Dazed and shaking Sandro set off homewards. 
He did not wait to see the garlanded white oxen 
yoked to the car. He was tired of his holiday, 
and he only wanted his mother. 

It was a very tired, begrimed little boy that at 
last crept up the long stairs and flung himself into 
his mother’s arms. 

“Why, what has come to thee?” she asked 
anxiously, stopping her busy plaiting and gathering 
him into her arms. “ There, there, do not cry 
so bitterly. The dust is in thine eyes, and the 
poor leg is hurting, and thy little inside is empty. 
We will soon make all that right again.” 

Very gently she bathed Sandro’s face with fresh 
water and rubbed the aching leg, and then, almost 
as if he had been a baby, she fed him with bread 
and milk, and bade him look at the egg which he 
was to have for the festa. 

Sandro lay quiet and thoughtful. He felt so 
rested and so comforted. The ache in his leg was 
almost gone, his cheeks felt cool and fresh, and 


SANDRO’S SEARCH. 


97 

the bread and milk was very good. He watched 
his mother solemnly, and just then a sunbeam came 
stealing through the little high window and 
seemed to frame her head in a shining ring of 
light. The very touch of those dear hands had 
eased his pain. The look in her eyes had com¬ 
forted his sore heart. She always had something 
for him when he was hungry ; and now there was 
a real golden halo round her head. 

“ Mammina,” he cried suddenly, pressing his 
cheek against hers and holding his two arms 
tight round her neck, “ why, I’ve been looking 
outside everywhere for a saint, and thou hast been 
here all the time ! ” 


( 1 , 912 ) 


7 


THE COMING OF THE KING. 


In the fertile plain of the Val d’Arno the river 
threads its way like a silver ribbon past many a 
scattered village and lonely farmhouse, and those 
who spend their days working here amidst the 
vines and olive trees must surely have a peaceful, 
happy time, out of reach of the cares and troubles 
of city life. 

But even here, where the world seems full of 
peace and sunshine, trouble may creep in; and 
there was trouble now in the little white house 
which stood in the midst of the cornfields, where 
the vines hung in tender green festoons from tree 
to tree and the olives shone silver white in the 
brilliant sunshine. 

Under the shadow of the broad-leaved fig tree, 
which grew by the side of the little white house, 
Silvio lay stretched on the ground, listening idly 
to the murmur of voices which came from within. 
He was sure that his grandmother was weeping 
again, and he wished she wouldn’t. It made her 
forget to cook the dinner, and then there was 


THE COMING OF THE KING. 


99 

nothing but hard black bread to eat. Of course 
he missed his mother too ; but if it was true that 
she had gone to be happy in Paradise, why should 
every one weep and look so sad all the day long ? 
He wondered whether his father would ever sing 
and look gay again. 

It was all very puzzling, but how could any 
one be sorrowful when the sun was shining, and 
the sky was blue, and the cherries were hanging 
crimson and ripe from the orchard trees ? Silvio 
stretched out his brown toes in the sunshine, and 
tried to catch the lizards that darted in and out 
over the warm stones; but they were much too 
quick for him, and slid away like quicksilver before 
he could touch them. Then he tried turning 
head over heels, but the sun-baked ground was 
unpleasantly hard for that game ; and so he lay 
still once more and peered up at the sky through 
the pointed leaves of the apricot tree and tried 
to count the little gray-green velvet balls that 
hung from the boughs. He wished the sun would 
make haste and swell them into golden fruit with 
red-brown speckled cheeks. 

“ Father,” he cried out, as he saw his father 
come slowly out of the house, “ when will the 
apricots be ripe ? ” 

“ Not for some weeks,” said his father, “ and 


ioo MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


before then we may, I hope, be far away from 
here.” 

“ Are we going away ? ” asked Silvio, jumping 
up in excitement—“away from all this?” and he 
waved his hand towards the fields and the little 
white house and the apricot tree. 

His father nodded, and Silvio looked at him 
with round eyes of astonishment. 

“ Are we going to the great city ? ” he asked. 
“ And will Nonna go too ? ” 

His grandmother had come out, and was sitting 
on the bench outside the door, and Silvio pointed 
a grimy little finger at her. 

“ No,” she said sharply, with an angry toss of 
her head ; “ thy Nonna has too much sense to go 
away to that gray distant land they call England, 
where the sun never shines and the people shiver 
and die.” 

“ Where it is possible to make a fortune and 
forget one’s troubles,” added Silvio’s father quickly. 

“ Oh, but England is such a long, long way off,” 
wailed the old woman, and she gazed with tear- 
dimmed eyes across to the purple haze which 
outlined the distant Apennines. 

“ Oh, it’s not so very far,” said a gay voice 
from the other side of the hedge; and Silvio turned 
hastily to salute the English Signora, whose foot- 


THE COMING OF THE KING, ioi 

fall was so light that no one had heard her com¬ 
ing. She was a guest at the villa, and often walked 
down to the little white house with her maid, 
who was Silvio’s aunt. Wherever there was 
trouble the Signora came, and the people looked 
upon her as an angel from heaven. They were 
quite sure her medicines could cure anything, and 
that even to look at her brought good fortune. 

“ What is this about England ? ” she asked as 
she sat down on the seat beside the old woman. 
Silvio crept close and put out a finger to smooth 
the silken sheen of her gown, and she patted his 
hand and smiled at him. But soon her eyes grew 
grave and rather pitiful as she listened to the tor¬ 
rent of words which the old woman poured out. 
Her son was too restless and ill to stay at home 
and work the farm. He had listened too often 
to the tales his sister told of how fortunes were to 
be made in England. Now nothing would serve 
him but to be off and take the child with him. 

“ Is it not cold and cruel there ? ” sobbed the 
old woman. “ Will they not both die without 
the sunshine ? ” 

“ But, Nonna,” said Silvio, “ the sun must surely 
shine there too; or how do they ripen the apricots, 
and what do the lizards do ? ” 

“ It is not always cold,” said the Signora slowly. 


02 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


“ and the sun often shines in our little gray island. 
But I fancy that Silvio and the apricots and the 
lizards would flourish best where they are, and it 
would be wiser not to transplant them.” 

“ I cannot part with the child,” said Silvio’s 
father. “ He is all I have now, and we must go 
together.” 

The talk went on, but Silvio’s attention wan¬ 
dered. He wondered whether there was a little 
cake for him in the bag which hung at the 
Signora’s side. She never forgot to bring it, and 
he hoped it was a brown one, in the shape of a 
heart, with a white almond in the middle. Some¬ 
times it was a pink one, and that was good too; 
but a brown one was nicer, for one could nibble 
it all round and leave the almond to the last. 
But suppose she should forget ? She looked so 
troubled, and when she rose to go there were tears 
in her eyes. 

“ I know what it must mean to you to part 
with the motherless little one,” he heard her say, 
as she put her hand gently on his grandmother’s 
bent shoulder. “ You see I have two babies of 
my own waiting for me in that far-away Eng¬ 
land, and I count the days till I shall see them 
again.” 

“ May the saints protect both thee and them! ” 


THE COMING OF THE KING. 103 

murmured the old woman, “ for thou hast been 
an angel of goodness to me and mine. As for the 
boy, one must have faith. I think the Madonna 
has a special care for those little ones who have 
no earthly mother to watch over them.” 

“ I am sure you are right,” said the Signora 
gently. Then as she looked up she saw Silvio’s 
eyes fixed anxiously on her face, and she put her 
hand into her bag and brought out a little white 
packet. 

Yes, it was the brown heart-shaped cake with 
the almond! How wonderful it was that the 
Signora always seemed to know exactly what he 
wanted most! He was sure the Madonna could 
not be kinder or more beautiful than his Signora, 
and he wished it was she who was to take a special 
care of him. It was not pleasant to think of leav¬ 
ing the lizards and the apricots and the little white 
house, and going to live far away in a strange land ; 
but it could not be such a very dreadful place as 
his grandmother seemed to think if the Signora 
lived there. 

So Silvio did not trouble his head any more 
about the future, but sat down to enjoy his cake, 
and to plan how he could fill his pockets with 
the cherries which hung so high on the tree. 

The sunny summer weather went past; and the 


io 4 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

autumn too, after turning the leaves to crimson 
and gold and filling the vineyard baskets with 
purple grapes, had in its turn given place to cold, 
grim winter. The little white house looked dis¬ 
mal in spite of the gay orange lichen which 
covered its roof, and the bare boughs of the 
apricot tree shivered in the icy wind. The lizards 
had long ago disappeared, and the fields looked 
gray and sad in the pale winter sunshine. 

But if it was cold in the sunny plain of the 
Val d’Arno, what was it like in the little gray 
island of the North, where winter reigned supreme 
and froze with its icy breath the ponds and rivers, 
and powdered the earth with hoarfrost until it 
looked like a birthday cake ? It was truly bitter 
weather there. The wind nipped unprotected 
noses until they were blue ; it bit toes and fingers 
and left chilblains behind. Even the children who 
had warm coats and cosy woollen gloves found it 
difficult to keep out the cold ; but for those who 
had little outside to cover them, and less inside 
to line them, the nip was terrible. 

This was the country to which poor little Silvio 
had come, and he wondered if he would ever be 
warm again. He was not at all like the same 
little boy who had rolled about in the sunshine 
under the apricot tree and chased the lizards over 


THE COMING OF THE KING. 105 

the warm stones. He was thinner and taller now, 
and his brown eyes seemed to have grown larger 
as his face had grown smaller. He had learned 
what it meant to be hungry and cold and miserable 
and very lonely, for he was all alone now. His 
father was dead, his grandmother was far away in 
the little white house, and he was obliged to be out 
in the streets all day to try to earn enough money 
to take home at night to the woman who called 
herself his guardian. With his concertina and his 
monkey he tramped the streets, and made what he 
was pleased to call music ; while Toto the monkey 
shivered in his little red coat and refused to dance, 
but chased the children and tried to bite their 
heels when they crowded round to tease him. 

It was very cold in the wind-swept streets of 
the gray city. The snow, which was like fine 
powder, drifted into every sheltered nook and 
cranny, and the black sky overhead promised more 
to come. The wind whistled through the bare 
branches of the trees in the garden, and shook the 
window frames of the tall houses overlooking the 
square. It made Silvio shiver and creep nearer to 
the railings for shelter; but to the two children 
who knelt by the nursery window above, it seemed 
a jolly, cheerful kind of wind. 

“ It’s going to be a real snowy Christmas,” 


io6 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


said Jock gleefully ; “ Santa Claus will be able to 
drive all the way in his sledge.” 

“ Silly !” said Jean, with a grown-up air. “ He 
doesn’t come over the earth; he comes through 
the air and down the chimney. Besides, I am 
not quite sure if he is real or not. There is 
nothing about him in the Bethlehem story.” 

“ That is what I can’t understand,” said Jock. 
“ But then there are so many things nobody ex¬ 
plains. Were you listening when they talked 
about the Christmas play ? It was something 
about a woman called Eagerheart, who went out 
to find the King on Christmas morning. And 
some one said that every Christmas day the King 
came again, only He did not look like a king, and 
no one knew Him.” 

“ No, I didn’t listen,” said Jean. “ Tell me 
more.” 

“ There isn’t any more,” said Jock, “ only that 
most people passed by and left Him out in the 
cold, instead of welcoming Him.” 

“ Why, Jock,” cried Jean excitedly, “ suppose 
it should be true ! How splendid it would be if 
we could find Him ! It’s Christmas Eve, and just 
the right time. Perhaps, if we keep watch care¬ 
fully out of the window we shall see Him pass.” 

“ I don’t think it’s as easy as it sounds,” said 


THE COMING OF THE KING. 107 

Jock doubtfully. “You see He might look like 
quite a poor person, and there would be nothing 
to show who He was.” 

“ Of course, I don’t expect a little Baby and the 
Madonna and S. Joseph and the Angels,” said 
Jean scornfully. “ It would be a poor lonely person 
who was cold and hungry and needed our help.” 

“ There’s some one out there by the railings 
now,” said Jock, flattening his nose against the 
window pane. “ I thought at first it was only a 
bundle, but it moved just now.” 

They watched eagerly for a few minutes. Yes, 
the dark bundle was certainly alive. Presently it 
stirred and sat up, and the strains of a concertina 
came faintly to their ears. 

“ It’s only the little boy with the monkey,” said 
Jock, with a sigh of disappointment. 

“ Oh ! but I love the monkey,” said Jean, 
peering out joyfully. “ I wish we could see it. 
It scratches itself so neatly, and chases the children 
when they come too near.” 

“ It must be pretty cold out there,” said Jock. 
“ I wonder the boy does not go home.” 

“ Perhaps he’s got no home to go to,” said Jean. 
“ Perhaps he is very poor and very hungry. Per¬ 
haps—oh, Jock, perhaps he is the King ! ” 

“ What shall we do ? ” said Jock, bobbing up 


io8 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


and down with excitement. “ It’s no use asking 
Nana; she always says ‘ Nonsense ! ’ when we 
make any beautiful plans.’’ 

“ Let’s creep downstairs and go out and fetch 
him ourselves,” said Jean boldly. 

The coast was clear. Nana was in the night- 
nursery getting the baths ready. They could hear 
her moving about. They held their breath as 
they tiptoed past the door, and then swiftly ran 
downstairs and through the hall. It was not very 
easy to open the front door, for the wind was 
leaning up against it, and came rushing in the 
moment the handle was turned and nearly blew 
them over. 

“Quick!” said Jock; and he caught Jean’s 
hand, and together they ran as fast as they could 
down the slippery steps and over to the railings 
where the boy was sitting. 

It had been a hard day for Silvio. Pennies had 
been few, and he and Toto were so cold and 
hungry that they could only sit and shiver there 
miserably together. Toto certainly had the best 
of it, for he could creep inside Silvio’s jacket and 
find a little warmth. 

They both looked up when the door opposite 
opened and the light flashed out on the pavement, 
and they both pricked up their ears when Jock and 


THE COMING OF THE KING. 109 

Jean stood beside them, and two kind little voices 
said together,— 

“ Won’t you come in, please ? ” 

Silvio could not believe his ears; but he grinned 
a wide cheerful grin, and jumped to his feet, while 
Toto chattered wildly and clung to his coat. 

“ You see we have been watching for you,” said 
Jock. 

“ And we were so afraid some one else would 
find you first,” said Jean. 

Silvio had not the least idea what they meant; 
but they spoke so kindly that he followed them at 
once into the lighted hall, and helped them to shut 
the door against the blustering snow-laden wind. 

“ Are you very hungry ? ” asked Jean. 

Silvio showed a row of nice white teeth as he 
smiled and nodded. 

“ And cold ? ” asked Jock. 

Silvio held out his blue hands covered with 
chilblains, and nodded again. 

“ Was it a very long journey from up there ? ” 
And Jock vaguely waved his hand towards the 
nursery or heaven. 

“ Very, very long,” said Silvio. 

“ It must be all horrid and different here,” said 
Jean. “ Was it very beautiful there ? ” 

“ Si, si,” said Silvio, nodding his head vigor- 


o MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


ously. “ Here there is nothing to eat, and very 
cold; there it was always warm and sunny and 
beautiful.” 

Jean quite understood. The one thing that 
puzzled her was the monkey. 

“ Why did you bring him ? ” she asked, point¬ 
ing a finger at Toto’s little solemn face, that peeped 
out from Silvio’s jacket. 

“ I love him ; he is my only friend,” said Silvio, 
hugging Toto closer. 

“ Don’t bother, Jean,” said Jock. “ I’m jolly 
glad the monkey has come too. It’s splendid luck 
for us. But we ought to prepare a feast. What 
shall we do ? ” 

They looked at each other blankly. Nana 
had cleared away the tea long ago, and there was 
nothing to eat in the nursery. 

“ We must get something from the dining¬ 
room,” said Jean decidedly. 

The dining-room door was open, and she could 
see that dinner was laid. The dessert was set out 
in tempting array—blue grapes, golden oranges, 
nuts, and candied fruits. Toto began to chatter 
wildly as he peeped out and saw all those delicious 
things. The tempting sight was too much for his 
morals. In an instant he had jumped from Silvio’s 
arms and flung himself upon the feast, snatching 


THE COMING OF THE KING, hi 

at nuts and grapes, chattering to himself all the 
time. 

Silvio made a dash to catch his chain; but Toto 
was too quick for him, and skipped across to the 
other side of the table in search of fresh spoils. 
The children nearly fell over each other in their 
eagerness to catch him; but every time they 
came near he jumped nimbly aside, dragging his 
chain behind him and upsetting the glasses with 
a crash. At last he made a dash for the open 
door, and skipped upstairs, his hands full of spoils 
and his eyes full of blinking wickedness. 

The children still gave chase, and had almost 
caught him up, when to their dismay they heard 
Nana’s voice calling to them from above. 

“ What in all creation are ye doin’ ? ” she was 
saying; “ and hoo cam’ yon evil beast in here ? 
And wha’s that ? ” pointing at Silvio. 

“O Nana, hush!” cried Jean breathlessly; 
“you don’t know who he is.*’ 

“ I ken that fine, Miss Jean, and that’s what I’m 
askin’,” said Nana. “ Hoo cam’ he in here, the 
beggar bairn ? Ma certie ! he’ll gang oot quicker 
than he cam’ in.” 

“ Nana, Nana,” said Jock, “ you mustn’t say 
things like that—you really mustn’t.” 

“What is all this about?” said a quiet voice, 


112 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


as a bedroom door on the landing opened and the 
children’s mother came out. She looked with 
astonishment at the group before her—Toto, in 
his red coat, grinning and chattering on the banis¬ 
ters, hugging his stolen goods; Nana, looking very 
large and angry ; and a little Italian boy cowering 
on one of the steps, with Jean and Jock standing 
on each side of him, as if to protect him. 

“ And well may you ask, mem,” said Nana 
indignantly; “ I canna guess hoo the twa o’ them 
got in, but I’ll soon show them the way oot.” 

“ O mummie ! ” cried Jean and Jock together, 
“you will understand. You won’t let Nana send 
him away. We found him.” 

“ I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she began ; and 
then Silvio, looking up, gave a sharp cry and darted 
up to where she stood and seized her hand. 

“ Signora, Signora! ” he cried; “ Madonna mia ! ” 
And he poured out a torrent of words in Italian 
which made Nana look more suspiciously at him 
than ever. She always looked upon foreign 
tongues as godless things. 

But the children’s mother caught his little 
brown hands in hers and spoke to him in the old 
kindly way, just as she had done when she used 
to come to the little white house and bring the 
almond cakes. She listened to his story, and then 


THE COMING OF THE KING. 113 

turned to the others, who were looking on in great 
amazement. 

“ It’s all right, Nana,” she said. “ It’s a little 
friend of mine whom I used to know in Italy. 
We must feed him and take care of him now, and 
see what can be done. But I still don’t understand 
how he came here. Who brought him in ? ” 

“ We did,” said Jock proudly. 

“ You see we knew he was the King,” said Jean. 

“ What king ? ” said their mother, hopelessly 
puzzled. “ But never mind; you can explain after¬ 
wards. The poor child is half starved and frozen.” 

It was only when Silvio had been fed and 
washed, and tucked up snugly in bed wrapped 
in an old pyjama suit of Jock’s, that she at last 
heard the explanation. 

“ I heard them say that the King came every 
Christmas,” said Jock, “ and that people must 
watch for Him, because it was not always easy to 
know Him. He came so often as a poor, hungry 
person.” 

“ And we looked out of the window and saw 
the poor little boy, and he said he was cold and 
hungry, and had left his beautiful country to come 
here ; and so we were sure it was Him,” said Jean 
all in one breath. 

Their mother did not answer for a moment. 

( 1 , 912 ) 8 


11 4 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

Her thoughts were far away, and she seemed to be 
standing in a sunny garden where the lizards darted 
to and fro and the little gray-green velvet balls 
hid amongst the leaves of the apricot tree, and she 
heard an old woman saying hopefully, “ I think 
the Madonna has a special care for those little ones 
who have no earthly mother to watch over them.” 
And then she thought of that poor stable where 
long ago the King had lain in His manger bed 
watched and guarded by His gentle mother, and 
she knew it was His guiding hand that had led 
the poor little motherless stranger to her door that 
night. 

“ Mummie, isn’t he the King, and was it 
naughty to bring him in ? ” asked Jean, awed by 
her silence. 

“ Do you remember, Jean,” asked her mother, 
“ how the King once said, ‘ Inasmuch as ye did it 
to one of the least of these my brethren, ye did it 
unto me ’ ? So you see everything we do for one 
of His children means doing it for Him, and He 
comes to ask our help always, not only on Christ¬ 
mas morning. But on that day when He came a 
little helpless child to earth, so poor that there 
was no shelter for Him but a stable, no cradle but 
a manger, we specially want to do something to 
show our love. Only children must learn to be 


THE COMING OF THE KING. 115 

obedient first and kind afterwards. I think you 
knew all the time that Nana would not have 
allowed you to go out.” 

“ Yes,” said Jean candidly. “ So I just tried not 
to think.” 

“ But you are glad we brought him in, aren’t 
you, mummie ? ” urged Jock. “ And now we can 
keep him and the monkey always.” 

“ Indeed, we are going to send him back to his 
own sunny land as soon as we can,” said his 
mother. “ And as to the monkey, Nana will tell 
you she has enough monkeys in the nursery already. 
Now, off to bed with you, and tell Nana that 
you did not mean to be naughty.” 

It was very difficult to explain to Nana. She did 
not even approve of Santa Claus or Father Christ¬ 
mas, but called them “ heathen notions.” Then 
when they tried to tell her about the King and 
His coming on Christmas morning, she only said 
she didn’t approve of playing with the Scriptures. 
But she kissed them, and tucked them up, and 
bade them be good bairns and go to sleep. 

“ I don’t think Nana liked the monkey,” said 
Jock meditatively. 

“ I wish she felt a little more welcoming,” 
sighed Jean. 

But they did not see her later on when she went 


116 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


into the little room where Silvio ky asleep. Only 
Toto’s sharp eyes watched her from his basket as she 
hung up one of her own stout knitted stockings 
bulging with good things to the knob of the bed, 
and heard her mutter, “ He’s naught but a puir 
bit furrin’ heathen, but one must aye be guid to 
the bairns at Christmas time.” 

So, after all, Nana too was ready to welcome 
the King. 


ALESSANDRO. 


It was Christmas Eve, and the gay city of Paris 
seemed more gay than ever as it prepared itself for 
the holiday of the coming festival. The shops, 
with their tempting array of wares laid out, over¬ 
flowed almost to the edge of the pavement. The 
golden pumpkins, piled up at the doors of the 
fruiterers, seemed to suggest Cinderella’s coach 
and fairyland. The fragrant smell of hot chipped 
potatoes and roasted chestnuts hung heavy on the 
air, and most delicious dainties met the eye, from 
marrons glaces to snails, sealed up in their shells 
with a paste of pale green garlic. 

But Alessandro did not stop to look at the shops. 
What was the use when he had no money ? He 
trudged along in his baggy trousers and wooden 
sabots, hugging his fiddle inside his coat, and look¬ 
ing neither to the right hand nor to the left. He 
had no cap, and his hair was much too long, for 
the wind blew it into his eyes. He hated long 
hair, but what would you have ? The artists liked 
it, so it must be suffered. 


118 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

Alessandro had never stood as a model by him¬ 
self before. Sometimes he had gone with his 
father to the big studios, but no one wanted such 
a very small model. So he usually stayed at home 
in the little attic room with his mother. It was 
only stern necessity which had driven him out that 
afternoon. 

“ Alessandro, take care of thy mother until I 
return,” his father had said several months before. 

There was well-paid work to be had on the 
railway which was being made in Switzerland, and 
in a few months he would earn more than he 
could in a year as a model in the Paris studios. 
And Alessandro at that time had felt quite proud 
to be left in charge, and to be the man of the 
house. 

But oh, how he wished now that his father 
would come home ! How could he take care of 
his mother when the money was all gone, and she 
was ill, and the little new baby sister cried all day 
and all night ? 

To-day a brilliant idea had come into his head, 
and he dressed himself in his model’s dress and 
took his fiddle, determined to go to the studio 
where he used sometimes to go with his father, 
and try to earn a few francs. 

It was very cold indeed. The wind swept 


ALESSANDRO. 


ny 

through the streets, and blew a thin sprinkling 
of dusty snow into every nook and corner. He 
wished they were all back in their own dear land, 
where the sky was blue and the sunshine was 
warm, and where there had always been plenty of 
polenta and black bread to eat. 

Presently he came to a great church, and he 
stopped for a moment. 

“ It is the festa to-morrow,” he said to himself. 
“ I will go in and see if there is a Gesu Bambino.” 

Very cautiously he pushed open the heavy 
swing door, and crept into the dim silent church. 
Ah, yes ! there was the presepio, just as he had 
hoped. In one of the chapels a bed of hay had 
been spread, and a little manger laid upon it. 
Inside, of course, was the Gesu Bambino, and the 
two figures that knelt beside it were S. Joseph 
and the Madonna, the ox and the ass keeping 
guard behind. 

Alessandro knelt down, put his fiddle on the 
ground, and then crossed himself reverently. He 
tried to remember the Christmas prayer, but the 
words were all confused. Would the Madonna 
be angry with him because he had forgotten ? he 
wondered. She never seemed as if she could be 
angry with any child, for she always looked down 
so lovingly at the Gesu Bambino. 


120 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

“ Madonna mia,” he whispered, “ I cannot 
remember thy prayer, but I would ask for thy aid. 
The mammina is sick, and the bambino is very 
small and hungry. If thou canst spare the time, 
perhaps thou wilt come and help.” 

The blue-robed Madonna knelt on silently there. 
Alessandro knew, of course, that it was not the 
real Madonna, but only a figure ; yet somehow he 
was sure she had heard, and a feeling of comfort 
stole into his heart. It was the very time when 
she would feel most pitiful towards all babies, for 
the sake of the little Baby who had lain so helpless 
in her arms. 

But time was going on, and he must not be late 
for the studio ; so he rose from his knees, tucked 
his fiddle once more under his arm, and went 
out into the busy, noisy street again. 

The art students were rather difficult to please 
that day, as they sat round and watched with 
critical eyes the models that came in and posed 
one after the other. There was a fisherman with 
his net slung over his shoulder, but he was too 
thin and too stiff. There was a dancer, but she 
was unsteady, and would not be able to keep her 
pose for ten minutes ; a brigand, but he was 
too old. One after another men and girls, 
in all sorts of costumes, came in and were 


Alessandro. 





























































































































ALESSANDRO. 


121 


rejected; and then, when the old brigand had 
gone sullenly off, Alessandro climbed on to the 
throne. 

His heart was beating like a drum, and his hands 
were trembling; but he tried to stand as firm as 
a rock, and to hold his fiddle steadily under his 
chin, while he fixed his eyes above the sea of faces 
around him. There was a sudden silence. For 
one moment the loud voices ceased to shout direc¬ 
tions and criticisms. He looked such a very small 
model standing there, trying to keep his pose so 
bravely. The soft hair framing his face gave him 
almost a baby look, and there was something rather 
pathetic about the baggy trousers hitched up by 
the bright coloured belt, and the manly white 
shirt showing beneath his blue waistcoat. But 
the silence did not last long, and was followed by 
a burst of laughter. 

“ This isn’t a creche,” some one shouted. 

“ Time for babies to be in bed,” cried some 
one else. 

And again there was a shout of good-natured 
laughter. 

The slow tears gathered in Alessandro’s eyes. 

“ I am not very young. I can keep a pose well, 
messieurs,” he said. 

But it was no use, and they told him to move 


22 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


on, and make room for the next model; and so he 
groped his way out to the street again. 

“ Poor little scrap! ” said Francesca, a tall, fair¬ 
haired girl in a blue pinafore, who had been look¬ 
ing on. “ He is rather a charming bit of colour.” 

“Yes, but a baby like that couldn’t keep a pose 
for two minutes,” said another girl. 

“ Well, I’m tired of all this noise, and I feel 
lazy this afternoon,” said Francesca. “I shall go 
and work at home.” And she gathered up her 
brushes, wrapped her old blue cloak round her, 
and escaped from the hot studio. 

In the shelter of a door close by, a small form 
was leaning against the wall, hiding his face in his 
arm and sobbing silently to himself. Francesca 
stopped and looked at him. 

“ Why, you are the very person I want,” she 
said. “You are the good little model who 
posed so well. If you have no engagement this 
afternoon, will you come to my studio and stand 
for me ? ” 

Alessandro could scarcely believe his ears, but 
her voice sounded so kind and friendly that he 
looked up, and tried to see through his tears who 
it was that spoke to him. Surely he had seen this 
tall gracious lady before, but he could not re¬ 
member where. 


ALESSANDRO. 


123 

“ Do you wish to come ? ” she asked again, and this 
time she talked to him in his soft Italian tongue. 

“ Si, si, Signorina,” said Alessandro, a smile 
breaking over his face. “ I will come imme¬ 
diately. I would be much contented to come.” 

He held her hand, and trotted along at her side, 
and then manfully climbed the many flights of 
stairs that led to her room. 

It was not a very grand room, but Alessandro 
thought it most beautiful, and he looked round 
in awe-struck admiration at the pictures on the 
walls, the bowl of lovely flowers on the small table, 
and the comfortable chair with its soft silken 
cushions. It was deliciously warm too, and while 
the Signorina took off her cloak, he went close 
to the fire and spread out his frozen blue hands 
towards the cheerful blaze. Then he watched her 
draw out her easel and put a canvas upon it; so he 
climbed on to the little throne, and threw him¬ 
self into his best pose. 

“ Ecco, Signorina,” he said. 

“ But no,” she answered ; “ we will try a sitting 
pose this time.” And she drew forward the com¬ 
fortable chair quite close to the fire, and lifted 
Alessandro on to it. 

“ Now,” she said, “ you can sit there and tell 
me all about everything while I paint.” 


124 madonna of the goldfinch. 

Alessandro gave a great sigh of content and 
relief. He was so very tired that he had had 
a fear that perhaps he might not be able to stand 
quite firmly for a long time with the fiddle 
tucked under his chin. He fixed his eyes upon 
the Signorina, and began to wonder again where 
he had seen her before. The longer he looked, 
the more sure he was that he knew her quite 
well. It was partly the kind eyes and the way 
she looked at him that seemed familiar, and also 
the shining light of golden hair round her head, 
and the long straight folds of her blue pinafore. 
She was talking to him as she worked, but her 
voice began to sound a long way off, like the far¬ 
away sound of singing in the great church, and he 
thought he was kneeling once more by the manger- 
bed, and that the lights were shining down on the 
blue-robed Madonna, and—and- 

“I thought he wouldn’t stay awake very long, 
poor baby,” said Francesca, as with very gentle 
hands she lifted him and laid him to sleep on the 
settle, covering him with a warm rug. 

Then she looked ruefully at the sketch just 
begun and at the bundle that lay fast asleep on 
the settle. 

“No more work to-day,” she said. “A clearly 
wasted afternoon. But after all it is Christmas Eve.” 


ALESSANDRO. 


12 5 

It was almost an hour before Alessandro stirred 
and then sat up. He looked round, half be¬ 
wildered at first, for he could not remember where 
he was, and then he was terribly ashamed. 

“ Did I fall asleep, Signorina ? ” he asked, and 
his lip began to quiver. A model who fell asleep 
could never expect to be paid a franc an hour. 

“ Never mind,” said Francesca cheerfully. “ You 
see it is Christmas Eve, so we may take a little 
holiday. Tell me, then, what you will do for the 
festa to-morrow.” 

“We will have no festa,” said Alessandro 
gravely. And then he told her all about the new 
baby that cried and cried, and how he was the 
man of the house since his father was away, and 
how he had come out to earn money because they 
were hungry. 

“ I will sleep no more if thou wilt but try me 
another hour,” he said anxiously. 

She smiled, and took two bright silver francs 
from her purse and put them into his hand. 

“ I think it is time you were going home,” she 
said. “Will you be able to find your way in the 
dark ? I’m afraid it has begun to snow. See, I 
will come a part of the way with you.” 

He looked up at her with shining eyes and 
smiled till all his white teeth gleamed. 


126 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


“ I am very content,” he said, and watched her 
joyfully as she took down her blue cloak and 
pinned on her hat. 

It was snowing hard now, so that it was no 
easy matter to get along, and Alessandro clung 
gratefully to a fold of the blue cloak and tried to 
give directions as to where his home lay. As 
they passed the shops he lingered a little and 
looked at the two francs which he held tightly in 
his hand. 

“ Signorina,” he said, “I must take home many 
things.” 

“ Shall I do the shopping ?” she asked, and with 
a sigh of relief he put the two francs into her hand. 

He had no idea that even such a large sum as 
two francs could have bought so many things as 
he saw the Signorina buy and place in a large 
basket. Then they stopped at a milk shop for a 
bottle of milk and at the charcoal burners for 
some sticks and charcoal, and by this time it was 
quite impossible to carry another thing. 

It was not easy to find the way in this strange 
white world of muffled sounds and blinding snow; 
but at last he gave a gasp of relief as he recognized 
the street where he lived, and could guide the 
Signorina to the door, and then up and up the 
long stair which led to the topmost attic. 


ALESSANDRO. 


12 7 

“ Will the Signorina have the goodness to enter ? ” 
he said, as he pushed open the attic door, and tried 
to stamp the snow off his sabots before going in. 

It was a very bare room into which Francesca 
groped her way. There seemed to be nothing in 
it but a bed in one corner and a rush-bottomed 
chair, but it was almost too dark to see anything. 
Only a wailing sound guided her to the bed, and 
then she could dimly make out the figure of the 
poor mother with the baby lying on her arm. 

“ Alessandro has brought me to see you,” she 
said. “I am going to make you more comfortable, 
if you will let me.” 

It was all like a fairy tale to Alessandro. First 
the Signorina lit a candle, and then set to work to 
make a fire and to unpack the basket, and the room 
soon began to feel quite warm and bright. She 
heated some of the milk, and took the wailing 
baby on her knee, where presently it was gurgling 
contentedly as the milk disappeared. Then when 
the baby was fed there was hot bouillon for his 
mother, and after that it was his turn to have a 
share in the good things. But first the Signorina 
took off his wet clothes and soaking socks, and 
wrapped him in her own soft white muffler and 
set him by the fire to enjoy his bowl of soup at 
leisure. It was not long before the warmth and 


128 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


comfort made him so sleepy that he could scarcely 
keep his eyes open, and then he was lifted up and 
put at his mother’s side and covered with a corner 
of the old blanket. 

“Surely it was the saints who sent thee,” said 
the poor woman with a sob in her throat. “I 
thought the little one was lost, and that I and the 
bambino were left here to die alone.” 

“He came to the studio to try to earn money 
as a model,” said Francesca. “Such a funny, 
anxious little model he looked ! Then he told me 
all about you and his baby sister, and how you were 
all alone in this strange city. And I, too, am a 
stranger here, and so I was glad to think I might 
do something for some one who was far away from 
home, for our dear Lord’s sake, on His birthday 
night. But sleep now ; I will stay until morning, 
and then we will think of some other plan.” 

It was chilly in the garret room, and Francesca 
wrapped herself in her blue cloak and sat close to 
the charcoal fire, after she had washed the bowl 
and prepared more milk for the baby. It seemed 
a queer place in which to be spending Christmas 
Eve, and yet it somehow felt as if it was all just as 
it should be. Surely all this must have happened 
to her before in some far-away time which she 
could only faintly remember! Her tired eyes 


ALESSANDRO. 


129 

closed once or twice, and then she raised herself 
and looked round, trying to think more clearly. 
Then, half ashamed, she realized why it had all 
seemed familiar ; for as she looked at the bare, poor 
room, the tiny downy head resting on its mother’s 
arm, and heard the sound of the Christmas bells, 
she knew that she must have been thinking of the 
poor stable and the little Child who had come to 
earth on the first Christmas birthday. 

The light was creeping into the sky, and 
the stars, which had looked down through the 
attic window all night, were beginning to pale, 
when there fell on Francesca’s ears the sound of 
footsteps hurrying up the stair, and the door was 
pushed open. A tired-looking Italian man came 
eagerly in, and hurrying to the bedside, knelt 
there, and threw his arms round the mother and 
child. 

“ Carina,” he gasped, “ I could not come before. 
I did not know of the coming of the little one. 
Where is Sandro ? ” 

He had no need to ask that twice, for Alessandro 
sat bolt upright, and after rubbing the sleep out of 
his eyes gazed solemnly at his father. 

“ Thou art come, then,” he said. “ I am very 
content to be no longer the man of the house. 
But, father, hast thou thanked the Madonna ? ” 

(1,012) 9 


130 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

The man rose to his feet and turned swiftly 
round. He saw a tall, blue-robed figure standing 
by the fire watching them. 

“I went to the church and I asked the Madonna 
of the presepio to come and help us. She is 
here,” said Alessandro, waving a grimy little hand 
in her direction. 

There was a bewildered look in the man’s eyes, 
and then, to Francesca’s dismay, he snatched off 
his cap, knelt down, and lifting the hem of her 
cloak, pressed it to his lips. 

“Oh no, no,” she said quickly, “you must not 
do that! I am only a friend whom Alessandro 
found when he came to the studio so bravely to 
try to earn money for the family.” 

“ The Madonna has her own messengers,” said 
the mother, looking on with shining eyes. And 
then she told of all the help that Francesca had 
brought. 

“She is my Madonna,” said Alessandro stoutly. 
“She has the golden light round her head and the 
blue robe. I knew her eyes at once.” 

“Ah ! Signorina,” said the man, “the little one 
is right. It is our Lady herself who comes to us 
in such a heart as thine, and it was thus that she 
answered Sandro’s prayer.” 


THE GOLDEN KEY. 

The hot June day in Venice was fading from its 
golden glow into a paler twilight, but the air was 
still heavy with breathless heat, and not the tiniest 
breeze ruffled the green waters that lapped against 
the broad marble steps. It was pleasant to leave 
hot rooms and narrow calles and sit out there 
at the water’s edge ; and the children especially 
loved to gather on the steps and sit and swing 
their bare feet in the green lapping water. 

But in one little hot room, high up in an old 
house, there were two children who seldom joined 
the company on the marble steps. The little 
white-faced boy sat on his mother’s knee, his black 
head resting wearily against her shoulder, while 
his sister waved an old torn palm-leaf fan back¬ 
wards and forwards, trying in vain to suggest a 
cool breeze. 

“ Mammina, dost thou think it will rain to¬ 
morrow ? ” she asked in an anxious voice. 

“ Perhaps,” said the mother hopefully. “ It is 


132 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

hot enough for July, and there is a feeling of 
thunder in the air.” 

Marina’s face fell and her eyes began to fill 
with tears. 

“ If it rains will there be no procession to¬ 
morrow, and can I no longer be an angel ? ” she 
asked. 

“ Poverina,” said her mother, smiling, “ I had 
forgotten the festa and the procession and the little 
white angel. I thought only of Beppino and the 
hope that cooler air might make him better. 
But pazienza, carina ; the sky is clear, and 
there is little doubt that thou wilt walk in the 
procession to-morrow. Is not thy white frock 
washed and ironed ? And has not the kind 
gardener promised thee a lily to carry in thy 
hand ? ” 

“ It is a wonderful thing to be an angel, 
Mammina; is it not so ? ” said Marina earnestly. 
“ It is not unkind to Beppino to pray that the rain 
may wait until after the festa ? ” 

“ No, no; thou art ever a kind little sister,” said 
the mother, smiling upon her, “ and I would not 
have thee disappointed. But these hot days are 
truly bad for the bambino.” 

“ What was it that the doctor meant to-day 
when he talked about a prison and a golden key? ” 


THE GOLDEN KEY. 


<33 

asked Marina in a whisper, for Beppino’s heavy 
eyes had closed. 

The mother sighed and looked down at the 
sleeping child. 

“ He said Beppino was like a little caged bird, 
who would never be better until he had fresh, good 
air and plenty of good things to eat. But all that 
needs money, and so he called it a golden key that 
would open the cage and let him out.” 

Marina stood still and thought deeply for a few 
minutes. 

“ Is that the only way, Mammina ? ” she asked. 
“ Dost thou not remember the story of the good 
S. Peter when he was shut up in prison ? Did the 
angel who opened his door also have a golden 
key ? ” 

“ The angel had no need of keys,” answered 
the mother. “ All doors are open to God’s mes¬ 
sengers.” 

“ Then why does He not open the door for 
Beppino ? ” asked Marina. 

“Who knows? Perhaps He will,” said her 
mother hopefully. “ We must wait patiently.” 

“ But I don’t want to wait,” said Marina 
crossly. “ O Mammina, if only I was to be a 
real angel to-morrow I could come and take 
Beppino’s hand and lead him out to the beau- 


i 3 4 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

tiful country where he would grow strong and 
well.” 

“ Ah ! that sounds a pleasant dream,” said her 
mother, smiling. “ But thou must remember that 
although thou wilt by no means be a real angel, 
yet, when thou art in the procession in the great 
church thou wilt be there to do honour to God 
and to the Madonna, and thou must behave thyself 
as His servants the angels do.” 

Marina’s eyes grew round and solemn at the 
thought. She had seen the procession of the 
Corpus Domini before, but to-morrow she herself 
was to take part in it. Together with Maria, a 
neighbour’s child, she was to be dressed in white, 
have a veil upon her head, and carry the Madonna 
lilies through the great church of S. Marco. 

“ It will be almost as good as being a real 
angel,” said Marina to herself with a deep sigh of 
satisfaction. 

Very early next morning an eager face was at 
the window looking anxiously towards the east. 
The festa day was dawning well. The dim, gray 
morning light was growing warmer every moment, 
the sky was flushed with pale pink, and the 
ghostly white palaces reflected in the still water 
turned slowly from gray to mother-of-pearl. 

Not a single cloud flecked the sky where the 


THE GOLDEN KEY. 


J 35 

moon still hung her waning silver lamp. Noth¬ 
ing was to be heard but the dip of the oars as 
the boats glided by, breaking up mother-of-pearl 
reflections, but piling on fresher, gayer colours 
with their loads of gray-green artichokes, crimson 
strawberries, and golden gourds. 

“ Mammina,” whispered Marina, touching her 
mother’s hand to waken her, “ the sun is rising 
and the festa day is here. May I begin to put on 
the angel dress ? Maria will be waiting for me 
in the courtyard by the well, and we will get our 
lilies and then go together to the church.” 

The mother’s tired eyes lighted up as she looked 
at the eager little face. 

“ Move quietly,” she said in a low voice. 
“ Beppino has slept but little all night, poor lamb.” 

For a moment Marina’s bright face was clouded 
as she looked at her brother’s little white face. 

“ I wish I was a real angel,” she said sorrow¬ 
fully to herself. 

But sorrowful thoughts soon vanished in the 
exciting business of dressing. It was not a thing 
to be undertaken lightly, and from the putting on 
of her white cotton stockings to the veiling of 
her curly head Marina grew more and more 
impressed. It almost felt as if there was some¬ 
thing real about it after all. She felt sure she 


136 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

knew what angels must feel like in their white 
robes when they set out to do God’s service. She 
did not want to run about and shout as on other 
days. Angels, she felt sure, walked quietly and 
never made a noise. 

In the courtyard close to the old well, Maria, 
another little angel, was waiting, and hand-in-hand 
the children set out, stopping at the corner where 
the gardener had his great basket of flowers. 

“ Here, little angels,” he cried, and handed to 
each a tall stem of lilies. “ Hold them straight 
in honour of the Madonna, and say a prayer for 
me.” 

The angels nodded and said their “ Thank you,” 
too much overawed by their white robes and saint¬ 
liness to give even a smile. Then on they went 
again through streets that began to be crowded 
now, and as they went the people smiled and said 
to one another, “ See the angels of the procession ! 
Dear little ones ! ” 

In and out of the great portals of S. Marco 
the people were beginning to swarm like bees, as 
the two little white-robed figures pushed their way 
through. There was a busy, humming sound of 
voices outside, but once within those heavy swing¬ 
ing doors there was a solemn hush which made 
Marina hold her breath. She often wondered if 


The procession wound its way along. 














THE GOLDEN KEY. 


1 37 

heaven would be more solemn and beautiful than 
the old mother-church. It was so wonderful to 
stand there and feel so tiny, and see dome after 
dome fading away into mysterious golden twilight, 
colour upon colour glowing from the walls, the 
floor itself a sea of jewelled rainbow tints, and all 
around her one shadowy glory of inlaid gold. 

It was even more beautiful to-day, for the won¬ 
derful cross which hung in the nave was glowing 
with tiny points of ruby light, and the long silver 
lamps were each touched with a crimson flame, 
while before the famous “ altar of gold ” the smoke 
of the incense rose in pale blue clouds which 
floated upwards and veiled the screen with its 
central Figure and the twelve apostles, and then 
rising higher still, was lost in the golden dome 
above where sit the silent cherubim. 

The two little angels took their places, and the 
procession started. Down the side aisle it went 
and out into the piazza, and those inside could still 
hear the sound of distant chanting as it wound its 
way along. Then the great central doors were 
flung wide, and all eyes were turned to see the 
procession sweep in. 

But instead of the gorgeous procession only two 
tiny figures in white marched solemnly in. The 
children had been put in front, and had never dared 


138 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

to look round ; so now they did not know that 
they had walked too fast and were all alone. Only 
when they were halfway up the aisle they realized 
that there was no procession behind them, and the 
smiling crowd waited to see what would happen. 
But neither of the little angels was in the least 
dismayed. If you are an angel in a white frock 
and veil and white cotton stockings, you are quite 
above feeling silly and frightened like an ordinary 
child. Marina only squeezed the other angel’s 
hand tight, and held her lily very straight, and 
waited for the rest of the procession to come on. 

It had all been dim and shadowy in the great 
church, but now a blaze of light came sweeping 
in. Tall candles borne aloft by men in scarlet 
robes came first, then more candles and golden lan¬ 
terns wreathed with fresh flowers, men in mauve, 
blue, and green robes to match, more candles and 
floating silken banners. So the procession swept up 
to the high altar in a blaze of light which made 
the old church gleam like a living jewel, and 
the voices of the choir swelled out their song of 
victory : “ Thou hast gone up on high and hast 
led captivity captive. Heaven and earth are full 
of Thy glory ; glory be to Thee, O Lord ! ” 

It was all over. The candles were put out one 
by one. The crowd melted away and solemn 


THE GOLDEN KEY. 


*39 

quiet reigned once more in the great church. 
Most of those who had taken part in the proces¬ 
sion had gone home; but in one of the dim 
chapels, where a calm-eyed Madonna looked down 
from the altar, one of the little angels knelt on. 

“ Madonna mia,” she prayed, “ I have brought 
thee my lily. It is a little faded, but the sun was 
hot. It is truly my very own, and I give it to 
thee. Wilt thou help me to find the golden key 
which will unlock the door of Beppino’s prison, 
that he may be free to grow strong and well ? ” 

The sound of passing feet fell on Marina’s ear, 
and she drew farther back into the shadow that 
no one might see her. A grand English signor 
and signora and a little girl with fair hair paused 
as they passed her, and talked in whispers a lan¬ 
guage which Marina could not understand. 

“ See, mother,” said the fair-haired child, 
“ there is the little angel who carried the lily in 
front of the procession. I wonder what is the 
matter with her. I think she has been crying.” 

The lady looked, and then went over to the 
place where Marina knelt. 

“ Is there something wrong, little one ? ” she 
asked. 

The tone sounded kind and comforting, although 
Marina could not understand the words, and she 


1 4 o MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

looked up with a friendly look in her brown eyes. 
Then the lady smiled down on her, slipped a shin¬ 
ing coin into her hand, and turned to go. 

Marina watched her go with grateful eyes. 
She held the coin tight in her hand, and felt there 
was no saying what wonders might not happen on 
this glad festa day. She was shy of strangers, but 
she wanted to see more of the kind lady and the 
fair-haired child, and so she followed them at a 
respectful distance out of the church and across 
the piazzetta until they stepped into old Giovanni’s 
gondola and sailed away. 

The sun was blazing down now, and there was 
little shade to be found, but Marina crept into an 
angle of the white marble balustrade and opened 
her hand to take a peep at her silver gift. She 
could scarcely yet believe her own good fortune. 

The sun shone on the glittering coin, but as 
Marina looked her face fell. It was not a good, 
honest, Italian lira at all—it was a piece of foreign 
money. Then as she looked closer her eyes opened 
wider with wonder and joy. Yes, it was foreign 
money, but what was it made of? No silver ever 
shone with such a yellow glow. It was gold, real 
gold, she was sure ; and in an instant the thought 
flashed across her mind, “ It is the golden key, 
the Madonna’s golden key ! ” 


THE GOLDEN KEY. 


Hi 

Ah ! but had the Madonna really sent it ? Did 
it in truth belong to her ? She was quite sure the 
lady had only meant to give her a lira. It was a 
mistake, and she ought to take it back. But then 
there was Beppino, who was so hot and tired shut 
up in the little room. The doctor had said he 
would be well if they could only find a golden 
key. It would be so easy to keep it and say 
nothing. Ah ! perhaps on another day she might 
have done that; but to-day she was an angel, and 
she was quite sure an angel never kept what did 
not belong to her. 

It was a very tired, white-faced, tumbled-look- 
ing angel that looked timidly up at the grand gold- 
laced porter of the big hotel and asked if she might 
see the English lady with the fair-haired little girl. 

At first the gold-laced porter told her roughly 
to be off, and not to hang about his hall; but even 
a gorgeous, fat, idle porter had a soft side, and it 
was difficult to refuse Marina’s pleading look. 
Besides, it made one feel a little uneasy to be 
harsh to an angel of the procession. He would 
think about it. 

Then the waiters began to gather round, and 
as they talked and laughed Marina grew terrified 
and held the gold piece more tightly in her 
hand. No, she would not tell them what she 


142 madonna of the goldfinch. 

wanted, she would not answer any of their 
questions. 

Suddenly the laughing and talking died away, 
and the waiters stood respectfully aside as a tall 
lady crossed the hall. Before any one could stop 
her, Marina darted forward and caught at a fold 
of her dress. 

“ Signora,” she panted, “ I have come to bring 
it back.” 

“ Why, it’s the little angel,” said the lady 
kindly. “ Come upstairs with me, and we will 
find out what all this is about.” 

There was a sense of comfort and protection in 
the clasp of that cool white hand, and Marina 
heaved a sigh of relief as she trotted by the lady’s 
side. Upstairs they went together and into a 
beautiful room where the fair-haired child was 
playing. 

“ Why, mother,” cried the child, “ you’ve 
brought the angel again.” 

“ She brought herself,” said the lady, smiling. 
“ But run away and ask Giovanni to come here. 
He will tell us what she wants to say.” 

In a few minutes the old gondolier stood re¬ 
spectfully saluting the lady, hat in hand, and then, 
catching sight of Marina, he gave her a little nod 
of recognition. 


THE GOLDEN KEY. 


143 

Very attentively he listened while Marina 
eagerly told him all that had happened. The 
words tumbled out so fast that it seemed a wonder 
he could understand. But he nodded his head 
gravely once or twice and grew quite excited 
when at last she opened her hand and showed the 
golden coin lying there. 

Giovanni’s English was rather queer, but he 
prided himself on his good accent, and the lady 
was quick to understand. As soon as she saw the 
golden piece she needed no further explanations. 

“ It was careless of me,” she said, “ but I did 
not notice the difference in the dark church. This 
is indeed an honest little angel. Ask her, Giovanni, 
why she brought it back.” 

Giovanni smiled as Marina whispered an answer 
to his question, and there was a kindly look in his 
eyes as he said,— 

“ She must, because this day she is one of the 
angeli.” 

A few more questions followed, and then the 
lady put the golden piece back into Marina’s hot 
hand and closed the fingers over it. 

“Take her home, Giovanni,” she said, “and 
tell her mother she has well earned it.” 

“ Mammina, O Mammina ! ” cried Marina, 
bursting into the room, “ didst thou think I was 


144 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

lost, and that I would never return ? But see, see, 
the Madonna has sent the Golden Key! It is 
almost as if I had been a real angel.” 

And then she poured out the story of the 
English lady and the golden coin. 

There was a stillness in the room when she 
had finished, and for a moment her eagerness 
was checked. 

Her mother’s head was bent low over the 
sleeping baby, and two great tears had fallen on 
his downy head. 

“ Mammina, art thou not glad ? ” cried Marina 
again. 

“ I am thanking God for His goodness,” said 
her mother. “ To-day I feared that His angel, 
who needs no keys, would soon open the door 
and carry Beppino away from us to Paradise; 
but instead He has made thee His little mes¬ 
senger, and placed in thy hand the Golden Key.” 


L . 1 


SIGNOR PICCIONE. 


Signor Piccione walked up and down in the sun¬ 
shine in front of the loggia. He spread out his 
snow-white tail and walked with a proud mincing 
step. You see he belonged to the nobility, and 
had no connection with the vulgar gray pigeons 
that flocked about the stables. 

“ Look at me,” he said to his wife, the Signora 
Piccione, who walked just behind him—“look 
at me, and learn to walk as I do.” 

The Signora was not doing him credit. She 
did not walk with a grand step, but sidled along 
in a very nervous manner. 

“ It is all very well for you to walk so grandly, 
and think only of your tail,” said the Signora 
Piccione shortly. “ I have something else to think 
about. I am quite sure I saw the green eyes of 
Ruffino looking out of the darkness behind that 
pillar.” 

“ Ma che ! ” said Signor Piccione, “ what non¬ 
sense ! He dare not touch us. I have heard 
every member of the family tell him that.” 

(1,912) I O 


146 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

All the same, Signor Piccione walked away 
from that pillar as fast as possible, and talked in a 
lower voice. 

“You are always imagining things,” he said 
loftily. 

But the Signora was quite right. Behind the 
pillar Ruffino the cat lay spread out like a fur 
mat, the front of his back close to the pavement, 
and his head laid quite flat in a line with his tail. 
Only the glitter of his green eyes showed he was 
alive, as he stealthily watched the white pigeons 
strutting about. 

“ Ruffino, Ruffino,” called Felicia from the 
doorway, and Ruffino suddenly sat up, and tried 
to look like a very mild and gentle cat who took 
no interest in pigeons whatever. 

Felicia, in a blue frock and white pinafore, came 
trotting out on to the gravel, and scattered the 
bread crumbs which she had brought. 

“ Buon giorno, Signor Piccione,” she cried; 
“don’t you want your breakfast? Take no notice, 
then, of that lazy Ruffino. He won’t hurt you.” 

Signor Piccione did not feel quite so certain 
about that ; but if ever a cat looked like an angel 
without wings that cat was Ruffino, as he sat in 
the sun and carefully washed his face with a mild, 
virtuous air- 


SIGNOR PICCIONE. 


H7 

“ Come along,” said Felicia suddenly, and she 
lifted him in her arms, clasping him tightly round 
his waist; “ it is wiser not even to watch pigeons.” 

“ Me-ow-ow-ah,” yelled Ruffino. He was very 
round and fat, and did not like to be squeezed in 
the middle. 

“ Nonsense,” said Felicia severely. “ I am not 
hurting you, and you are quite greedy enough to 
eat up the pigeons’ breakfast if I left you.” And 
she staggered indoors, Ruffino screaming to the 
last. 

“ Now that’s much better,” said Signor Piccione ; 
“ now we can eat in peace. There is a nasty look 
in that cat’s eye which always takes away my 
appetite.” 

“ Much better,” cooed the Signora, making bold 
now to spread out her tail, and to mince about 
with a ladylike air. 

You see it was no wonder she should put on 
mincing airs that morning, for what do you think 
was lying in the nest in the old ruin where she and 
Signor Piccione had made their home ? Nothing 
more nor less than two white eggs—the most 
beautiful eggs that ever were seen. 

So busy now were Signor Piccione and his 
Signora with the crumbs and their fan-tails that 
they never noticed when something gray stealthily 


I 4 B madonna of the goldfinch. 

crept out and hid once more in the shadow behind 
the pillar. Neither of them noticed the glint of 
green eyes that shone like emeralds in the gloom, 
as Ruffino watched their every movement. 

“ I think I’ll just fly home for a moment and see 
if those eggs are all right,” said Signor Piccione 
fussily, when he could not eat another crumb. 

“Very well,” said the Signora. Signor Pic¬ 
cione always ate so fast and picked out all the 
best and largest pieces so quickly that her only 
chance was to make up for lost time when he had 
finished. 

There was a flutter of white wings, and Signor 
Piccione was gone, and the gentle little Signora 
minced up and down happily by herself. 

The green eyes in the shadow of the pillar 
narrowed themselves to two shining slits. Ruffino 
dragged his body slowly along the ground, and 
laid his head even flatter than before. Then came 
a spring, a flash of gray fur, one scream from the 
Signora, a shower of white feathers, and the deed 
was done. 

“ O cattivo, cattivo ! ” cried Felicia, flying out 
of the open door. “ Oh, he has killed the Signora 
Piccione ! ” And she sat down on the stone step and 
cried until her pinafore was quite wet. Then, very 
sorrowfully, she picked up all that was left of the 


SIGNOR PICCIONE. 


149 

Signora Piccione, and carried her indoors to show 
what that wicked Ruffino cat had done. 

Alas for poor Signor Piccione ! His wife was 
dead, and he was left all alone. Felicia tried to 
comfort him with all the choicest crumbs, but he 
scarcely ever came now to the loggia. He seemed 
determined to shut himself up in his house and 
grieve for the Signora all by himself. Every day 
Felicia went and looked up at the ruin where he 
lived, and tried to tempt him to come down ; but 
he never showed himself until the day when the 
gray pigeon tried to pay him a visit. 

Felicia was standing watching below when she 
saw a common gray pigeon, quite a vulgar bird, 
fly across and sit on a tree close by. It was 
watching the home of Signor Piccione too. Pres¬ 
ently it could not bear its curiosity a moment 
longer, and it boldly flew over and looked in at 
the doorway, quite prepared to go in without so 
much as an invitation. 

The next thing Felicia saw was a very furious 
and indignant Signor Piccione, who rushed out, 
caught the gray pigeon by her collar, and bundled 
her out. I am sorry to say that the language 
Signor Piccione used was such as to shock even 
Moufflon, the French poodle, who was sitting 
watching at Felicia’s side, and who often said 


150 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

quite naughty things himself when he was 
vexed. 

And even after Signor Piccione had disappeared, 
Felicia heard him mumbling and grumbling and 
saying bad things all to himself. She could not 
imagine why he should be so very angry with the 
gray visitor. 

Presently, as she listened, she heard another 
sound which made her prick up her ears. It was 
a sort of cheep, cheepy sound which baby birds 
make when they are very young and can’t scream 
plainly. 

“ There must be a nest of some sort up there,” 
said Felicia. “ Come, Moufflon, and let us 
look.” 

But though they both looked most carefully 
they could find no nest, and at last had to give 
it up. 

Next morning Felicia took some more crumbs, 
and set out to try to coax Signor Piccione once 
more. Ruffino, with his mildest face on, offered 
to come and help her, but she ordered him sternly 
to be off. 

“ Via ! ” she said. “ You may try to look so 
kind and gentle, but you are really as bad as a wild 
tiger. Via!” and she drove him back into the 
house. 


SIGNOR PICCIONE. 


1 51 

Then she turned to go towards the old ruin, and 
at that very moment there was a flutter of wings, 
and when she looked, what do you think she 
saw ? 

There was Signor Piccione as grand and puffed 
up as ever, walking up to the front door, and 
behind him came two little pure white pigeons, 
mincing along and trying to walk as their father 
was doing. 

Then Felicia understood what that cheep, 
cheeping noise had been, and why Signor Piccione 
had been so angry with the interfering gray pigeon. 
All by himself he had hatched those two white 
eggs, and brought up his two motherless babies. 
Was it likely, then, that he would allow a common 
gray pigeon to come and interfere and offer her 
advice ? It was just the sort of thing a common 
gray pigeon would do ; so he bundled her out of 
his nursery, and to-day the babies were big enough 
to take their first walk with him. 

Felicia knelt down on the ground and spread 
the crumbs most carefully in case the babies 
might be frightened. She was so happy she could 
scarcely breathe. 

And Signor Piccione walked up and down more 
puffed out with pride than he had ever been before, 
and his precious babies walked behind him and 


152 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

tried to throw out their chests and spread their 
tails as well-brought-up pigeons should do. 

And Ruffino the cat sighed and Looked the other 
way. He knew now that it was wiser not even to 
look at a pigeon. 


THE MAGIC MIRROR. 


The sunbeams came dancing into the little room 
where Rosina lay asleep. They shone on her dark 
curly head, and kissed her round flushed cheek, 
and tried so persistently to peep under her closed 
eyelids that at last she awoke. 

“ Oh dear ! ” she grumbled ; “ I wish it wasn’t 
time to get up.” 

But it was. The sunbeams said that quite 
decidedly, and so did her mother’s voice from 
the kitchen. 

“ Come, be quick ! ” the voice cried. “ There is 
the water to be fetched, and the breakfast to set, 
and the baby is just waking.” 

Now Rosina had rather a pretty face when it 
was clean and smiling. She had brown eyes and a 
mop of curly brown hair with threads of gold in 
it, and there was a delicate rose pink on her cheeks 
where the sun had kissed her, and when she smiled 
she showed a row of even white teeth like little 
pearls. 

But that was only when she was clean and smiling. 


154 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

This morning she was neither. She had only 
washed a little circle round her nose, because the 
water was so cold, and her mouth was so cross 
that both corners turned downwards, and her eyes 
could scarcely be seen under the black frown that 
puckered her forehead. 

She slipped on her patched petticoat and old 
camicetta, and looked crossly at her bare brown toes. 

“ I wish I had shoes and stockings,” she said, 
“ and beautiful clothes, and no work to do.” 

Her mother looked up as Rosina came slowly into 
the kitchen and most unwillingly lifted the copper 
pot which was waiting to be filled at the well. 

“ I wish thou couldst look a little more cheer¬ 
ful, child,” she said. “ It is no pleasure to look 
at such a face.” 

“ I am always being scolded,” muttered Rosina 
to herself. It did not improve her temper to have 
that heavy water-pot to carry, and by the time she 
had carried it back with aching arms the frown 
on her face was blacker than ever. 

“ Here, take the bambino,” said her mother, 
“while I make the breakfast.” 

The fat baby had been gurgling and smiling, 
but, meeting Rosina’s black looks, he changed his 
mind, and began to roar and to cling tightly to 
his mother. Even when his sister had seized him 


THE MAGIC MIRROR. 


*55 

firmly, and held him tight on her knee, he con¬ 
tinued to roar with anger, and to beat her with 
his little clenched fists. 

“ Cattivo ! ” she said, slapping his fat hands, “ I 
am sure I did not want to hold thee, ungrateful 
one ! ” 

At breakfast she was sure her cup of milk was 
the smallest, and her piece of bread the hardest; 
and while she looked discontentedly at it, Tomaso 
snatched at it and tried to break off a piece. She 
flew at him angrily, and in her rage knocked over 
her milk and broke the cup. 

The busy mother did not stop to ask who was to 
blame, but she cuffed Tomaso and shook Rosina, 
and bade them both be off to school if they could 
not behave peaceably at home. 

“ Crosspatch,” said Tomaso, “ thou canst walk 
by thyself.” And he ran off, leaving her alone. 

Rosina wandered along in sullen silence. She 
never lifted her eyes from the gray dusty pathway, 
so all the world looked gray and dusty to her. 
Overhead was the blue sky, and the olive trees 
spread their branches to make a silver lacework 
to screen her from the sun. Knots of pink roses, 
her namesakes, nodded to her from the hedges, 
but all she saw was a gray dusty pathway and 
rough stones. 


156 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

“ Every one is hard and cruel to me,” she sighed. 
“ Nobody loves me. Mammina scolds and says I 
am ugly, the bambino screams when I go near 
him, and Tomaso steals my bread and calls me 
names.” 

She was so very sorry for herself that she actu¬ 
ally managed to squeeze out two big tears, which 
rolled down her cheeks and made a clean pathway 
on either side. It was a cruel, unfair world. 
Some day all this unkindness would kill her, and 
she would lie with crossed hands under a wreath 
of white flowers; and then they would all be sorry 
and beg to be forgiven, but that would be too 
late. She was just planning out the sad scene, and 
refusing to come to life again in spite of all 
their prayers, when the school bell sounded in 
the distance, and she was obliged to take up the 
burden of life once more. 

Rosina was not a greater favourite at school 
than she was at home. She was always looking 
out for unkindness, and somehow she always found 
it. Even the good Sister, who smiled so cheer¬ 
fully on every one else, and who was so patient 
and kind and so unwilling to punish any one, was 
hard on her—hard and unjust, Rosina was sure. 
So what was the use of trying to please her ? 

This morning, as she hurried in, she saw that 


THE MAGIC MIRROR. 


1 57 

one of the children had laid a bunch of sweet 
violets on the Sister’s chair, and that did not please 
her either. 

“ I’m not a favourite,” she said out loud with a 
sniff, as she sat down—“ but then I don’t bring 
flowers ! ” 

The giver of the flowers turned round and glared 
resentfully at Rosina. She had got up early to 
gather the violets, and had thought only of giving 
the Sister pleasure, and she had not tried to make 
herself a favourite. 

Rosina saw the unfriendly look and sighed 
deeply. 

“ There ! ” she said, “ no one ever looks kindly 
at me. No one cares for me.” 

And she was so busy being sorry for herself that 
she could not learn her lesson, and had nothing 
to say when her turn came and she stood before 
the Sister. All the rest of the children had done 
their lessons so well that they were to have a 
story now as a reward, but Rosina was told to 
sit apart from the rest on a distant bench and 
learn her lesson all over again. 

It was only on very special occasions that the 
Sister would tell them one of her stories, and 
Rosina thought it cruelly hard that she, who loved 
stories better than anything else, should be set 


158 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

to learn a stupid lesson while all the others were 
enjoying themselves. 

It was a beautiful story, she was sure. She 
listened with all her might, and heard something 
about a magic mirror, which made her long to 
hear more, and as no one seemed to notice her 
she crept closer and closer to listen with the rest. 

“ Of course,” the Sister was saying, “ every one 
wanted to look into the Magic Mirror, because, you 
see, it held in its silver heart the gift of happiness 
for those who looked aright and who knew the 
magic secret. But for those who dimmed the 
shining surface with cross or unkind looks, the 
mirror held only sorrow and tears. The gift was 
ready for each one, however timidly they looked 
in, and those who had learned the secret found 
something so wonderful in the shining silver 
depths that for them the whole world was full 
of sunshine, and they were as happy as the day 
was long.” 

“ But where can we find the Magic Mirror ? ” 
asked Rosina eagerly. She had quite forgotten 
she was in disgrace. 

“ The story is not for thee to-day,” said the 
Sister quietly. “Take thy book and learn thy 
lesson outside.” 

Rosina turned sullenly away, dragged her feet 


THE MAGIC MIRROR. 


1 59 

as slowly as possible across the room, and then 
banged the door. 

“ No one is ever kind to me,” she said gloomily. 
“ I wish there was really a Magic Mirror. I expect 
it would be easy enough to learn the secret, and 
then I would be happy all day long, and no one 
would be horrid and unkind and unfair to me 
any more.” 

The longer Rosina thought about it, the more 
she wondered if there was really such a thing as the 
Magic Mirror, and if so, where she could find it. 
The good Sister’s stories were always true ones, 
or at least had a true meaning in them. She never 
told just make-believe stories. 

Now, where could that mirror be found ? Was 
it in some grand palace ? No, that could not be, 
for the Sister had said every one had a chance of 
looking in. She was sure it was not in church— 
that was a place for saint-pictures, not for mirrors. 
Well, she would learn her lesson quickly, and per¬ 
haps, if she asked very politely, the Sister might 
tell her. 

The other children were all gone when Rosina 
stood beside the Sister’s chair and said her lesson, 
and after she had finished she still stood there, 
threading her brown fingers in and out together, 
and trying to pluck up courage to ask her question. 


160 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


She lifted her eyes and looked up timidly into the 
kind face, and a tiny smile turned up the corners 
of her mouth that made the sullen frown disappear 
like magic. And, strangely enough, a smile came 
into the Sister’s eyes too, which before had only 
looked sad and vexed. 

“ What is it ? ” she asked kindly. 

“ Wilt thou tell me where to look for the 
Magic Mirror ? ” said Rosina eagerly. 

“ It is much more important to learn the secret 
first,” said the Sister. “ The mirror is so easily 
dimmed that it is wiser to bring to it only a shin¬ 
ing face. Try first of all how to keep a shining 
face, and then the rest will follow.” 

Rosina walked home slowly, thinking deeply, 
and she arrived so late that a scolding was awaiting 
her instead of her dinner. 

“ Late again ! ” said her mother. “ I am tired of 
waiting for thee. Be quick and fetch the water. 
Afterwards I will find thee something to eat.” 

Rosina lifted the copper pot and with a very 
clouded face went down to the well. She was in 
no hurry, and she leaned idly over the side and 
looked down into the clear water below before 
she began to turn the handle. She had often 
looked into that shining well, but to-day she started 
back, and then peered down again in great excite- 


THE MAGIC MIRROR. 


6 


ment. Could it be the Magic Mirror that was 
gleaming down there ? Oh, if only she could 
see into it ! If only she could win the golden gift ! 
She almost overbalanced herself as she leaned over 
to see down more distinctly, her heels in the air. 

Yes, it was certainly a clear, shining, silver 
mirror ! And what was that looking up at her 
from its depths ? A very cross, sullen little face, 
with a tangled mop of curly hair. 

“ Why, it’s just me ! ” said Rosina, bitterly dis¬ 
appointed. That could be no Magic Mirror; and 
she began gloomily to fill her water-pot and to 
carry it in. 

“ It’s very heavy,” she said with a frown as she 
set it down. 

“ A burden is always heavy to those who carry 
it unwillingly,” said her mother. “ Thou hast 
not yet learned the secret of making thy burdens 
light.” 

“ It’s always my fault,” muttered Rosina 
crossly. 

“ There ! run away and play,” said her mother; 
“ but take thy dinner first. I do not want to 
work thee too hard.” 

There was much that Rosina could have done, 
for the baby was fretting in his cradle and wanted 
to be amused, the plates were unwashed and the 

(1,912) I i 


i 


162 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


floor unswept, but she was too busy thinking of 
her own troubles to notice how tired her mother 
looked. 

“ I’ll go and see Nonna,” she said to herself. 
“ She knows all about everything, and will be 
able to tell me where to find the Magic Mirror.” 

Her grandmother was sitting plaiting straw near 
the doorway of her little house when Rosina 
came slowly up and stood by her side. The old 
woman laid the straw aside and put her shrivelled, 
toil-worn hand under Rosina’s chin and looked 
searchingly into her face. 

“ Let me see,” she said. “ Thou hast found the 
world an unpleasant place to-day. No one has 
smiled on thee. Work has been terribly hard, 
and thou hast had nothing but unhappiness.” 

“Why, Nonna, how didst thou guess?” said 
Rosina, opening her eyes very wide. “ It sounds 
like magic.” 

“ I can read it all here,” said her grandmother, 
still looking into her face, “ because I know many 
secrets.” 

“ O Nonna ! dost thou know the secret of 
the Magic Mirror ? ” said Rosina, clasping her 
hands together in great excitement. “ Canst thou 
teach it to me ? ” 

“ Gently, gently ! ” said the old woman, “ Tell 


Grandmother was sitting near the doorway of the little house. 














A~ 


THE MAGIC MIRROR. 163 

me first of all about this Magic Mirror, whose 
secret thou wouldst know.” 

“ Ah ! ” she said, nodding her head, when 
Rosina had told her all that she had heard of the 
Sister’s story, “ there are others as well to whom 
the secret of the Magic Mirror has been revealed.” 

“ Tell me quickly, then,” said Rosina, and she 
knelt down close at her grandmother’s side. “ I 
want to find it at once, for I am so tired of being 
unhappy. I thought at first it was hidden in our 
well, for it looked so like a beautiful shining mirror, 
but it was just the water, I suppose.” 

“ And what didst thou see down there ? ” asked 
her grandmother. 

“ Only myself,” said Rosina. 

“ Was it a pleasant picture ? ” said the old 
woman. 

“ N-n-no,” said Rosina slowly. She remem¬ 
bered the cross, sullen face that had looked up at 
her from the silver depths, and could not call it 
a pleasant picture. 

“ Ah ! ” said her grandmother, “ it is as I 
thought. It was lucky for thee then that it was 
not the Magic Mirror. The good Sister was cer¬ 
tainly right. Thou must learn to have a shining 
face first of all before setting out to seek for the 
Magic Mirror. Now the old well shall be made 




164 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

to serve thee in good stead. As soon as thou 
canst see a pleasant, shining face looking up at thee 
from below, come back and tell me, and perhaps I 
may tell thee the secret, and help thee to find the 
Magic Mirror.” 

Rosina’s face clouded. 

“ Oh, but—” she began in a very discontented 
voice, when her grandmother held up a warning 
finger. 

“That face would never do for the Magic 
Mirror now,” she said. “ Quick ! put on a smile 
at once and try to brighten it up.” 

It was rather a crooked smile which Rosina 
managed to call up, but it was better than nothing, 
and her grandmother nodded approval. 

“ Now run away home and see if there is noth¬ 
ing thou canst do to help thy mother,” she said. 
“ It is the idle people who find it most difficult 
to smile.” 

And it really seemed as if her grandmother was 
right ; for when Rosina had run home, and had 
swept up the floor and washed the plates, it did 
not seem nearly so difficult to smile at the baby, 
and he actually held out his arms to her, and 
patted her cheek with his little fat hand. It was 
really wonderful how much happier she felt, too. 

When her mother left the wash-tub and came 


THE MAGIC MIRROR. 


1 65 

wearily in, it was to find a tidy kitchen and 
laughing children, and her face brightened as she 
entered. 

“ Thou art a good child,” she said to Rosina. 
“ Give the bambino to me now, and I will fetch 
the water to-night. After all it is hard work for 
thy little arms.” 

“ Oh no ! ” said Rosina cheerfully, “ I want 
to go to the well.” And she set off quite blithely. 
She put down the water-pot at the edge, and hung 
cautiously over and looked down into the shining 
depth beneath. 

“ It’s a little pleasanter,” she said, “ but it’s not 
very bright yet. I shall have to practise more.” 

She was staggering back with the heavy pot, 
when Tomaso crept from behind the door and 
thrust out a bare leg to trip her up. She did not 
fall, but at least half the water was spilt over the 
newly-swept floor, and she felt shaken and very 
angry. She put down the water-pot and flew to 
punish the evil-doer, but he was too quick for her 
and slipped out of the open door. Then as soon as 
he had put a safe distance between them, he turned 
and grinned at her in his most aggravating manner. 

“ Crosspatch ! ” he cried. “ If thou couldst see 
thy own face, it would frighten thee.” 

Rosina stood still, and the angry look faded 


166 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


away. Oh dear ! she had just begun to look 
pleasant, and now it was all rubbed out and she 
must begin again. She turned sorrowfully back 
and went indoors, and began to mop up the water 
and make the room tidy. 

Presently Tomaso’s wicked little grinning face 
peeped in at the doorway. He looked in very 
warily, ready to disappear at once if the enemy was 
likely to attack. But, wonder of wonders ! Rosina 
looked up, and there was actually a queer sort 
of smile on her face! Tomaso ceased to grin 
and looked at her doubtfully. 

“ Come in ! ” she said ; “ I shan’t touch thee.” 

Tomaso kept a wary eye upon her, fearful of 
some hidden trap ; but as she still had that queer 
smile on her face, and went on mopping up the 
water, he began to feel just a little ashamed of 
himself, and by-and-by he offered to help. Then 
they set to work together, and it became almost 
like a game, and they both enjoyed it. 

All that evening Tomaso cast doubtful looks at 
his sister now and then, and instead of making 
faces at her, as was his usual custom when he 
caught her eye, he looked away. 

“ I’ll fetch the water for thee in the morning,” 
he mumbled as he went off to bed, and Rosina was 
surprised that it was quite easy to smile on him. 


THE MAGIC MIRROR. 167 

“ He is not really such a horrid boy as I 
thought,” she said. 

But she would allow no one else to fetch the 
water now, and each day as she went to the well 
she anxiously looked down to see if her face was 
growing fit yet for the Magic Mirror. 

Of course there were many times when the 
clouds came down and hid all the sunshine, and 
her face looked as gloomy as ever; but each time 
she chased the clouds away it was easier for the 
sun to break out again. Her mother’s smile was 
pleasant to meet now, and, strangely enough, the 
work did not seem half so hard, and the water-pot 
was certainly not half so heavy as it used to be. 
School, too, was quite a different place. It was a 
nice, sunshiny world; every one was kind to her, 
and she was very happy. 

A sudden thought struck her one day as she sat 
on the edge of the well. Could it be that after all 
it was the Magic Mirror she had seen down there ? 
Where else had all this happiness come from ? 
Might it not be the golden gift which the Magic 
Mirror held in its shining heart for those who 
looked into it ? She would go that very afternoon 
and ask her grandmother if it could be so. 

The sun was shining through the silver leaves of 
the olive trees, and flecking with tiny rings of gold 


168 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


the bowed figure of the old woman as she sat 
busily plaiting her straw, her thoughts far away and 
a smile upon her face. She started and looked up as 
Rosina came running along and stood before her. 
Again she held the child’s face between her hands 
and looked at it intently. 

“The world is full of sunshine for thee to¬ 
day,” she said. “ Every one smiles on thee, work 
is easy, and thou art as happy as the day is 
long.” 

“ It is the magic secret again,” said Rosina, 
nodding and smiling. “ And oh, Nonna, I have 
come to ask thee to tell me what that secret is, 
and if it is really the Magic Mirror that I have 
seen inside the old well.” 

The old woman sat silent for a few minutes, 
and she gently stroked Rosina’s curly head. 

“ I will try to tell thee the secret,” she said, 
“ and thou must try to understand. The name of 
the Magic Mirror is Life, and it does indeed hold 
in its shining heart the gift of happiness or sorrow 
for each of us. And its secret is not far to seek. 
Whatever we bring to the Magic Mirror, that is 
the thing which it reflects and gives back to us. 
If we bring smiles, we are met by smiles; if we 
hold out kindly, helpful hands, kindly, helpful 
hands will be held out to clasp ours. If we bring 


THE MAGIC MIRROR. 169 

love, we shall receive love, which is the greatest 
gift of all. But if, instead, we bring cross looks 
and unkind, selfish actions to face our daily life, 
there will be no golden gift to meet us then, for 
the mirror gives back to us only what we bring 
to it.” 

Rosina puckered up her brows in thoughtful 
silence. 

“ I see,” she said at length. “ It*s not really 
magic at all, but just ourselves.” 


THE STEEP ASCENT. 


Sister Cecilia sat in the cool green shade of the 
great tree that spread its branches over the peaceful 
convent garden. Her hands lay folded idly in her 
lap, and her eyes gazed dreamily across the misty 
blue valley with a rapt, unseeing look. 

Outside the quiet convent walls the busy life of 
the old town of Santa Caterina flowed on. There 
was noise enough in the narrow streets and great 
square, but only the sound of the bells reached the 
quiet peacefulness of the convent garden. 

It was not often that the good Sister sat idle, but 
sometimes when anxious thoughts about those in 
the outside world troubled her she came out into 
the peaceful garden to meditate undisturbed, and 
to pray for those who had so little time to pray for 
themselves. So far away were her thoughts just 
now that she did not hear the clang of the convent 
bell nor the sound of soft footsteps crossing the 
garden path. Then a timid hand touched her 
habit, and she started and looked round. 

“ Ah ! Caterina,” she said, “ I was even now 


THE STEEP ASCENT. 


I 7 1 

thinking of thee, my child. How fares thy 
mother and the little ones ? ” 

She patted the thin brown hand that still held 
her cloak, and smiled kindly upon the young girl 
who stood beside her. 

Caterina’s eyes smiled back, and when Caterina 
smiled she made one think of sunbeams dancing on 
the blue waters of the lake below, showing depths 
of clear brown beneath. All the grave responsi¬ 
bility of fourteen years disappeared in the sunshine 
of that smile. 

“ She is much better to-day, Sister,” she said. 
“ The medicine works like magic, and I have come 
to beg for more if thou canst spare it.” 

“ I will carry it to her myself,” said the Sister 
kindly; “ but meanwhile sit here beside me, for I 
have something to say to thee.” 

The smile in Caterina’s eyes died out, for the 
Sister’s voice was grave and her face wore a 
troubled look. 

“ I would not be hard on thee, my child,” she 
said, as Caterina looked at her anxiously, and nerv¬ 
ously pleated her apron into little folds. “ I know 
very well what a heavy burden rests upon thy 
young shoulders, with a sick mother and the little 
ones to care for. But, Caterina, I am troubled 
about thee. When we gave thee the name of our 


i 7 2 madonna of the goldfinch. 

blessed saint it was with the hope that thou 
wouldst try to follow in her footsteps. Now it 
seems to me thy thoughts turn more to earth than 
to heaven.” 

Caterina hung her head, and pleated more folds 
in her apron’s hem. 

“ There is so little time to think of heaven,” she 
said—“ there are so many earthly things always 
waiting to be done.” 

“ When wast thou last at Mass ? ” asked the 
Sister. 

“ Not for many Sundays,” said Caterina in a low 
voice. “ It is so difficult to spare the time.” 

“ Ah ! that is exactly what I thought,” said the 
Sister sadly. “ Of course it is difficult. There 
is no easy road which leads from earth to heaven. 
It is a steep ascent and difficult to climb. Thou, 
Caterina, hast climbed but few steps upwards in 
all thy fourteen years. Art thou quite content ? 
Hast thou no wish to reach the heavenly gate ? ” 

Tears shone now in Caterina’s brown eyes, and 
there was a sound of a sob in her throat as she 
answered, “ I will try to remember, Sister, and to¬ 
morrow I will go to Mass.” 

“ That will be, at least, one step upward,” said 
the Sister, as she smiled approvingly and laid a 
gentle hand upon Caterina’s bowed head. “ And 


THE STEEP ASCENT. 


l 7 3 

to make it easier I will come and look after thy 
mother and the little ones whilst thou art 
gone.” 

That was good news indeed, and Caterina sped 
home with a light heart. She thought a great 
deal about the Sister’s words as she climbed the 
steep, narrow street. It was dreadful to think how 
contented and happy she was with her mere earthly 
work, and how little she had thought of heaven. 
But to-morrow she would make a fresh start. She 
would get up very early, do all her work, and set 
out in good time for the Church of Santa Caterina. 
That would at any rate be one step upward, as the 
good Sister had said. 

The children were clamouring for their supper 
when she reached home, and each one seemed to 
be shouting louder than the other. The baby 
wailed dismally in its cradle, and the mother’s 
weak voice, begging for a drink of water, could 
scarcely be heard above the din. 

“ Patience, patience! ” said Caterina. “ There 
will be no supper for those that cry out.” 

A good slice of polenta soon kept the children 
quiet, a cooling drink put new life into the invalid, 
and the baby ceased its pitiful wail as soon as 
Caterina lifted it in her strong arms, and it nestled 
its little downy head contentedly in her neck. 


i 7 4 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

Caterina certainly had a way of quickly smoothing 
out all difficulties. 

“ Mammina,” she said, as she sat beside her 
mother’s bed that night, when the children were 
at last all asleep, “ the kind Sister has promised to 
bring the medicine herself to-morrow. But she 
was not well pleased with me to-day. I have not 
been to Mass for many Sundays now.” 

“ I wish I could spare thee oftener,” said her 
mother with a troubled look; “ but everything 
seems to go wrong when thou art away. The 
children are always wanting thee, and as for me, 
what should I do without thee ? ” 

Caterina smiled happily. It was good to feel 
she was wanted, but the thought of the Sister’s 
words soon made her serious again. People who 
were contented with mere earthly praise ought not 
to feel so happy. 

Before she went to bed she looked carefully 
for her rosary, and found it in the corner of a 
dusty drawer. Then she knelt and began to tell 
her beads, and tried to think of heaven and the 
saints and to forget about all earthly matters. But 
try as she might, she found herself wondering how 
she was going to fit a new patch on that big 
tear in Francesco’s trousers; whether it would be 
possible to afford a new pair of boots for Maria, 


THE STEEP ASCENT. 


*75 

and whether it would be necessary to get more 
milk for the baby, since it was growing so big. 
She pulled herself up with a jerk each time her 
thoughts wandered, and each time as she started 
afresh her lips moved more slowly and her head 
nodded more sleepily, until at last prayers, patches, 
boots, and baby became so tangled up together that 
she crept shamefacedly into bed, and was asleep 
almost before her head touched the pillow. 

There is surely an imp of mischief which re¬ 
joices in working its wiles whenever people are in 
a special hurry. It seems to delight in hiding 
away everything that is needed. It pulls off 
buttons, tweaks off strings, breaks bootlaces, and 
lays every kind of trap to catch unwary hurrying 
feet. Caterina fell an easy prey to the imp of 
mischief that Sunday morning. She had been up 
and doing since dawn, but the sun was climbing 
high in the heavens before her work was half done. 
Never had it taken her so long to dress and wash 
the children, never had there seemed so many 
buttons and strings missing, never had things hid¬ 
den themselves in such out-of-the-way corners! 

The children, too, helped the imp to carry out 
its mischievous plans. Scarcely had Caterina lifted 
the heavy copper water-pot upon the wooden 
bench when little Angelo was filled with a desire 


176 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

to drink out of it, and tried to tilt it forward with 
both hands towards his open mouth. The pot 
rocked for a moment, then leaned a little too far, 
and a fearful howl from Angelo brought Caterina 
running in from the well to see what had happened. 
She found a wet and sobbing child lying on his 
back in a sea of water, and the other children 
screaming with joy while they hopped about to 
avoid the streams which were surrounding the 
cradle, where the baby, like a little Moses, lay 
wailing in his ark. 

As soon as Angelo was dried and comforted, and 
his big bruise anointed with soothing oil, Caterina 
turned her attention towards the flooded floor. 
Francesco and Maria, anxious to help, had been 
trying to mop up the streams, and had made them¬ 
selves almost as wet as the floor. 

“ The saints preserve us ! ” said Caterina dis¬ 
tractedly, as she snatched a gray, dirty rag out of 
Maria’s hand. “ To think that thou must needs 
use my best neckerchief for this ! ” 

Maria’s eyes filled with tears that threatened to 
add to the general dampness, but Caterina mopped 
them up with the spoilt handkerchief, and told 
her to run away and fetch the milk for breakfast. 

“ Something’s burning ! ” announced Francesco, 
sniffing up the air. 


THE STEEP ASCENT. 


1 77 

Sure enough, the polenta had stuck to the pot 
and was black as a cinder, and the breakfast must 
all be cooked over again. 

“ Caterina, I tried to carry it so carefully, but 
some of it’s slipped over the edge ! ” wailed a voice 
from the door, and there stood Maria with a half- 
empty bowl of milk, and a blue petticoat like the 
sky at night covered by the Milky Way. 

Well, it did not mend matters to be cross, and 
Caterina plodded on, and in time the children were 
fed and the room made tidy, and she was free to 
start for church, as the good Sister would soon 
arrive to look after the household. 

Caterina sighed as she glanced down at her old 
blue petticoat—it was so faded and patched ; and 
though her apron and camicetta were clean, they 
were neither fine nor smart like the festa clothes 
of other girls. Then, too, instead of her best 
handkerchief she was obliged to wear the old 
orange one, which at least was dry. 

Still, it was pleasant to set out in the sunshine 
and to listen to the bells that rang across the valley 
from Santa Caterina’s Church. This was an im¬ 
portant day, and Caterina held her book and her 
beads carefully as she stepped along. She was 
determined that no earthly thoughts should hinder 
her prayers to-day. 

(1,912) 


12 


178 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

Suddenly, as she went along, a cry of distress 
reached her ears. She turned quickly and looked 
up the street. Those wicked boys were teasing 
the little crippled Tonino again. Like a flash she 
was upon them, scattering them to right and left, 
and dealing out some well-deserved cuffs on their 
tingling ears. 

The crippled boy sat sobbing on a doorstep, and 
she knelt down and put a protecting arm round 
his shoulder. 

“ There, there,” she said, “ don’t cry! They 
will not dare to come back again.” 

Tonino clutched her hand and held it tightly. 
“ I wish thou wouldst beat them, and beat them, 
and beat them ! ” he sobbed. “ They are wicked 
and cruel, and they steal my crutch so that I 
cannot run away.” 

Caterina wiped his eyes with a corner of her 
clean apron. 

“ I don’t think they mean to be really wicked,” 
she said. “ Perhaps if thou wert not so easily 
angered they might leave thee alone.” 

Tonino shook his head; he was sure those boys 
were wicked through and through. Some day he 
was sure Santa Caterina herself would appear and 
beat them as they deserved. 

Caterina smiled as she thought of the stately 


THE STEEP ASCENT. 


179 

saint condescending to beat those little street 
ruffians; but she suddenly remembered that it was 
getting late, and she caught up her book and her 
beads and started on her way once more. 

“ Is that thee, child ? ” called a feeble, cracked 
voice as she passed the public well at the corner 
of the street. 

Caterina stopped and nodded to old Mariana, 
who with bent back was stooping down, trying 
to lift her heavy copper pot of water. 

“ That is too heavy for thee, Nonna,” she said. 
And she laid down her book on the edge of the well, 
and lifted the heavy pot in her strong young arms. 

“ I knew thou wouldst be ready to help,” said 
the old woman, as she hobbled along by Caterina’s 
side. “ Not for naught did they name thee after 
our dear saint.” 

Caterina smiled somewhat ruefully. There 
seemed but little chance that she would ever 
follow in the saint’s footsteps. The pot was 
heavy, and the road was steep to climb, and by 
the time she was back again at the well and had 
caught up her book the church bells had rung 
out another half-hour. 

“ Oh dear ! how late I shall be ! ” panted 
Caterina, and this time she set out to run as fast 
as her feet could carry her 


180 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


But the fates seemed all against her that day. 
Scarcely had she reached the foot of the hill when 
a little toddling child came running towards her 
with unsteady steps, and in its hurry lost its balance 
and fell in the dust at her feet. 

In a moment Caterina had the baby in her 
arms, had dusted her down and comforted the 
grazed knees and little bruised, dirty hands. Then 
she set the little one down and prepared to hurry 
on again. But the baby had no intention of being 
left behind. It held on to Caterina’s petticoat 
with a firm grip, and began to screw up its face 
ready for a distressful cry. 

“ Oh dear ! ” said Caterina, lifting her up again, 
“ why canst thou not be wise and good and go 
home to thy mother?” 

But the little one only smiled serenely. She 
had evidently strayed some way from home, and 
there was nothing for it but to carry her back. 
Another half-hour rang out before Caterina had 
found the distracted mother and given the baby 
into her arms. 

Panting, hot, and weary, Caterina at last entered 
the great cool church, dipped her fingers into the 
holy water, and dropped on her knees by the steps 
of the little side chapel where the picture of the 
Madonna and the Gesu Bambino hung. 


THE STEEP ASCENT. 181 

It was terribly disappointing. The service was 
over, and the people were leaving the church. 
She had arrived too late. The hot tears stole 
down her cheeks and fell on her clasped 
hands. Truly it seemed no use making good 
resolutions and striving to climb even one little 
step upward on that steep road which led to 
heaven ! 

The sound of moving feet ceased ere long. One 
by one the candles were all extinguished, and the 
solemn stillness of the great church was unbroken. 
Only the little gray chapel still held its one be¬ 
lated worshipper, and the light from the silver 
lamps before the altar fell on the old orange hand¬ 
kerchief and faded blue petticoat, and caught a 
glint now and then of tears that slid silently 
through Caterina’s brown fingers. 

Presently she lifted her head and gazed at the 
picture above her. Surely the Madonna would 
understand that she had done her best and the 
fault was not entirely hers. Somehow the pictured 
faces of the Mother and Child seemed to comfort 
her sore heart, and she quickly brushed aside her 
tears that she might see more clearly. 

The two lamps which hung on either side of 
the picture cast silvery gleams from their two 
tiny points of light, and as Caterina gazed and 


82 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 


gazed, the rays seemed to grow longer and longer, 
until they reached her feet and formed a shining 
silver ladder leading to the Madonna’s throne. 

Caterina held her breath in awed amazement. 
There was no doubt about it. This was no longer 
a little gray chapel with a picture over the altar. 
These were the shining stairs which led up and 
up to heaven—the steep ascent which she had so 
longed to climb. Oh, if only she dared to set her 
foot upon that shining path ! If only there was 
a helping hand to draw her upward ! 

“ Come, little daughter—I can help thee up one 
step at least,” said a voice in her ear; and then, to 
her joy, she saw her mother’s face bending over 
her. Tonino smiled down on her from the next 
step, and reached out a frail little hand to help 
her on. Then old Mariana was waiting just above, 
and with trembling hands drew her upwards on 
to another shining step, and her quavering old 
voice said kindly, “ As thou hast helped me, now 
I can help thee.” 

All up those shining stairs, kind, well-known 
faces looked down on Caterina, helpful hands were 
held out to her as she climbed. But high above 
was the most wonderful and comforting sight of 
all, for there she saw the face of the Holy Child, 
who, sitting on His Mother’s knee, leaned for- 


THE STEEP ASCENT. 183 

ward and stretched out His little hands towards 
her. She almost felt already the touch of His 
hands laid in blessing upon her head. 

“ Dreaming, my child ? ” The words fell 
clearly on Caterina’s ears, and she started and 
looked wildly round. An old priest stood beside 
her. It must have been the touch of his hands 
which she had felt upon her head. 

“ I—I—do not know,” she faltered. Then, as 
she saw the kindly look in the old priest’s eyes, 
she felt sure he would understand, and she poured 
out all her tale to him. 

She began with what the Sister had said to 
her in the convent garden, and told him of the 
good resolution she had made. Then followed 
the tale of all the difficulties that had beset her, 
and how, after all, she had arrived too late, and 
had found the service was ended. Her eyes grew 
very round and solemn as she went on to tell of 
the shining ladder which had seemed to stretch 
down from the two silver lamps—those same 
lamps which now only showed their tiny points 
of light. 

“Was it indeed a vision, Father?” she asked 
in an awestruck whisper, when the tale was ended. 

A gentle look came into the old priest’s eyes as 
he listened. 


184 MADONNA OF THE GOLDFINCH. 

“ Who knows ? ” he said. “ I cannot tell. Per¬ 
haps it was sent as a message of comfort to thy 
heart, my child. This, at least, I can tell thee 
with certain sureness. There is never a kind and 
helpful act that does not lift us upwards; never an 
unselfish, kindly deed done for others that does not 
help us to mount another step of those shining 
stairs which lead from earth to heaven, where 
dwells the Christ to whom we minister when 
we befriend His little ones, and who waits with 
outstretched hands to draw us ever upwards, 
nearer and nearer to Himself. ,, 


THE END. 


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